


Queen of the North

by momolady



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - 1920s, Alternate Universe - Anastasia Fusion, F/M, Romance
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-11-27
Updated: 2015-01-31
Packaged: 2018-01-02 19:29:10
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 8
Words: 20,643
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1060684
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/momolady/pseuds/momolady
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Eight years ago, the crazy Czar Targaryen squashed Robert Baratheon and his ill attempted rebellion. He then lashed out with Robert's sympathizers and killed most of the people in Winterfell. Jon Snow survived, and with Queen Daenerys' help he's looking for the sister who may have survived, Sansa.<br/>Tyrion Lannister, banished by both his father and his kingdom, hopes that by finding Sansa Stark he can regain his name and what is rightfully his. He highers Sandor Clegane to act as his strong-arm. Together the two search for a girl good enough to play the part of the missing princess. And as their time begins to find out they find her: Alayne Stone an orphan working as an apprentice dressmaker.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. The Giant and the Imp

She looked over the crown in her hands. Onyx and silver and diamonds. She’d never held anything so beautiful before, well, at least that she could remember correctly. “I am a Stark,” she whispered to herself, stroking the giant, polished gem in the center of the crown with trembling hands. “I can be brave.” 

She closed her eyes, few nervous tears slipping down her cheeks. She brushed them away quickly with the back of her gloved hand. At her feet, Lady keened softly, nudging her foot with her paw. Ever so gentle, ever so attentive of Sansa, making sure not to tug on her new dress. Sniffling, she shed the gloves, afraid she’d get them dirty. The silk was so fine, so smooth and soft, she had almost forgotten she was wearing them. As she pulled them away, she saw the dingy little ring on her finger. The one he had given her.

It was simple and plain. Thin gold band, almost wire. There was no setting, just a big flat circle, empty in the center. It was flat and tarnishing quickly. Just a trinket from a stand in a market. Nothing special, nothing too beautiful about it. He had gotten it for her, placed it upon her finger and made her a promise. 

Yet he’d broken it, and he wasn’t here. Her lip trembled.

She reached for the kerchief tucked away in her bodice and wiped her eyes. “No crying, you stupid girl.” She knelt down, clutching onto Lady’s neck, finding strength in her direwolf. 

Lady licked her ear, whimpering gently as if to assure Sansa that, no, she was not a stupid girl, and nuzzled to Sansa’s shoulder. She leaned back, adjusting Lady’s collar, thick, beautiful leather, studded all over with beautiful gems. It was a collar even a queen would wear, she thought. She thumbed Lady’s tag, made of silver, her named engraved with ornate calligraphy. Lady, familiar of the Queen. Symbol of the North.

“You were just a stray,” Sansa whispered softly, rubbing Lady’s ears. “A silly little puppy, lost in a snowdrift.” She smiled. “Just like me, right girl?”

Lady panted. 

Sansa took a deep breath and stood, holding her hand flat across her stomach as she walked across the room to the balcony. She threw open the doors and stepped out into the night air. Snow was falling from the night sky, looking like the stars were drifting to earth to witness this great event. Lady had followed, leaning against Sansa’s leg to keep her warm.

Below her, the city was twinkling and glowing. All the lights, all the shining beauty she’d only dreamed of in the orphanage. Here she was wearing a dress like she’d always wanted when she worked in the dressmaker’s shop. She was so beautiful, and everyone told her so. 

You’re a real princess, Sansa.

“I am Alayne,” she had replied once, so long ago it seemed. “Who else could I be?” She had laughed, believing that that was all she would ever be. Alayne Stone, orphan, dressmaker’s assistant. 

She gripped onto the icy banister, staring up into the night sky, into the snow that fell and melted on her cheeks. It was snowing then, she thought. When they first approached me, Tyrion and… She had to stop herself before she began crying again. 

Lady whimpered. She missed him too.

“You’ll have to tell me your story one day,” Jon had said. “How you came back home. Not just that the Gods smiled on Tyrion Lannister.”

Sansa moved back inside and sat down at a desk. Picking up a quill and dipping it into the thick, dark ink she thought about where to begin. The orphanage? The dress shop? Perhaps the night she was found wandering barefoot in the snow when she was ten. Or was she eleven?

“My dear brother,” she began. “You had asked me once to explain the journey I took to get here and why I even bothered with it at all, considering all the dangers I faced. I told you I was no yet ready. But as I sit here waiting for my coronation I find I cannot settle on a single thought. So here I am, quill in hand ready to tell you everything that has happened to me since that policeman found me wandering barefoot in the snow in Vale. How I went from being Sansa, first princess of the North, to Alayne Stone the orphan and dressmaker’s assistant, and then back to Princess, and soon Queen of the North.”

She dipped the quill back into the ink, chewing on her lip. Lady lay at her feet, closing her eyes and sighing peacefully.

“It begins with an Imp and a Giant.”

————————————————————————————————————

“Abysmal!” The little, blonde man exclaimed. “Absolutely, terrifically, and unequivocally abysmal!” He shouted, jabbing his stunted finger into the air. “Thirty auditions,” he continued, waving his arms about enthusiastically. “Thirty! And what do we get? Girls too short, girls too tall, too young and too old and five too horrendous to mention!”

“Don’t forget the transvestite.” The big man in the dark cloak grumbled.

Tyrion slapped his forehead. “And the transvestite!” He posed, popping his hip and holding out his arm like he was smoking. “Hello Your Grace, I’m your sister, Sansa Stark!” He said with a too deep voice. He rolled his eyes, walking again. “How the hell does he consider himself PASSING?” He spat, gesturing at the giant beside him. “You’d make a more passable woman than he does.”

“I highly doubt that.” Sandor huffed. “But thanks for the compliment.”

Tyrion shook his head, exasperated and tired. “We have less than a week, Sandor.” He moaned pathetically. “A single week! And in that time we have to find the perfect girl, train her up, teach her the histories, memorize the histories and stories, and deliver her to Jon bloody Snow. Not mention make her passable as the princess!”

“You have a week,” Sandor corrected.

“WE have a week, you mangy cur.” Tyrion scoffed, pulling his tattered and matted coat around his neck. “You want to get paid, correct?” He slapped Sandor’s leg. “Then you have to do your job, help me find a girl, help me protect and deliver the girl. Then you get your damn gold.” He scoffed, going up to a stand and buying a paper. He stuffed the paper under his arm and reached into his pocket.

“Don’t worry, you’ll have me until you’re sitting on your tiny throne again.”

Tyrion pulled out a lighter and a stub of a cigar. “It’s not the fucking throne I want.” He scoffed, stuffing the cigar between his teeth. “And my throne wouldn’t be tiny.” He cupped his hand around the lighter, trying to get it to light. “I would have a throne to match my cock; a seat coveted by many a woman.” He shook his lighter, out of fluid. “Fuck,” he cursed, tugging the butt out of mouth. “What I want is my name!” He snapped. He waved his hand. “Come along, let us return to our wretched hole and wait for daylight to save us.”

Sandor pointed. “You waddle your way home.” He grunted. “You know where I’ll be.”

Tyrion rolled his eyes. “Fine.” He huffed, chewing on the cigar butt again. “Go and swill your booze. Just don’t pass out in the gutter again. You may have noticed that I lack the size and stamina to carry you home.” He turned then turned back quickly. “And I can’t pay someone to do it either.” He held up his empty lighter. “Can’t even afford gas for this!” He scoffed.

“I’ll keep that in mind.” Sandor rasped a dark laugh, turning on his heel and heading down the ally. 

It was an odd arrangement. Sandor had been working for Tyrion for nearly a year now, searching the local areas for a girl. A very specific sort of girl. The sort of girl who could pass as a princess. Oh, and not just any princess. The princess of the North. The lost princess. 

Tyrion had found him in a bar, drunk and surly, and asked him if he wanted to work. Of course he did; he was running out of money, and that meant running out of booze. Sandor took the Imp’s job, becoming his hired muscle, his grunt. He did all the heavy lifting, intimidating, that Tyrion could not do. Once they found the girl, he’d pretend to be her personal chauffer, her bodyguard. He could do that much. He had the scars to look fierce. The size to domineer over most. He had that quiet, angry energy that leaked from his eyes. 

But, as Tyrion soon found out, Sandor also had an eye for detail. It was Sandor who weeded out the girls better than even Tyrion. He could spot a liar a mile away. He could tell when the girl’s hair was not truly auburn, but a painted mixture soon to fade. He knew when the nose was too long, the eyes not blue enough. It was a strange talent. Better yet, an odd memory to recall a girl maybe seen a handful of times outside of her home, the palace of Winterfell. And then her only pictures royal paintings seen in prints around the markets, and in grainy black an white newspapers.

Yes, Sandor had an eye for detail, a cautious eye for beauty. He saw things Tyrion wouldn’t even consider. 

“Tell me again how the skirt should fall off her hip!” Tyrion laughed one evening after Sandor had turned down a near perfect girl. “Of all the silly details.” He shook his head. 

“She was not genuine either.” Sandor growled. “The real princess would be…”

“Genteel, lovely, honest,” Tyrion waved his hand around in the air, writing down in his ledger. “I know. I know. You’ve said that more than enough.” He tapped his temple. “I remember more than you give me credit for, hound.”

Sandor scratched at the three embroidered dogs on his lapel. “A princess is more than a pretty face.”

Tyrion nodded, biting into a rather juicy slice of orange. “We should suggest,” he slurped through his teeth, “that auditions should bring fruits baskets and food from now on.” He laughed.

“Bribery?” Sandor asked.

Tyrion shrugged. “Sweeten the pot. We’re doing this out of the kindness of our hearts,” he said dramatically, placing his hand over his chest. “Should the good continue to go unrewarded?”

Sandor rolled his eyes.

“Oh you’re no fun.” He tossed the peel away. “Now, do enlighten me,” he swallowed. “How does a penniless drunk know what the princess should and shouldn’t be?”

“Just an idea.” Sandor shook his head, voice low and rough as gravel. Tyrion had asked many times since then how Sandor knew such details. And every time Sandor gave some half-assed answer. He was no willing to yet say how he knew such intimate details.

The failed rebellion had been eight years ago. Robert Baratheon had tried with all his might to overthrow Czar Targaryean. But what the stag claimed in bravado it lacked in battle. House Baratheon was no more. And in show of his power, the Czar had turned his hatred upon Robert’s sympathizers. He sent assassins to the North, with poisoned blades for the Stark family; but his madness did not go unnoticed. The Czar’s death was shrouded in mystery, but the kingdom was too battleworn to care. Daenerys Targaryean was a welcome change. Unlike her father, she didn’t listen to the whispers of the court; he banished the family responsible for turning Czar Targaryan’s mind to violence and bloodshed, the Lannisters, stripping of their titles and lands. It was a harsh and swift fall into poverty.

What made it worse was seeing their home and wealth go to what remained of the Stark clan; Jon Snow. Casterly Rock, given to a sixteen year old bastard. Then they’d watched as Jon was legitimized, made ruler of the North and was offered a betrothal to the young Dragon Princess, Daenaerys. He refused it, but it was said that the two were fast friends, and the alliegiance between North and South had never been stronger. It’d seemed hopeless for Tyrion. Rejected by his family, now there was nobody to care about their actions, he’d ended up scrabbling for scraps and capering about in Inns for whatever small coins would be flung at him. It was only through sheer luck that he heard of the reward; Jon Snow believed his sister, Sansa, had survived the Czar’s catspaws, and that the first daughter and princess of the North was still alive out there somewhere.

That was three years ago.

“This will show them I am not like my family.” Tyrion grunted. “I will save the princess, take her lovingly back to her brother, and I will be rewarded. Given back what is rightfully mine.”

Sandor rolled his eyes at this. Every time Tyrion got a little too drunk, he began blathering on about his plan to anyone with ears. Hence why Sandor had taken to drinking on his own.

It was nearing dusk. The lanterns were turning on, clicking and whirring to life. Only a few years ago they’d had a fellow going around lighting and replacing the candles. Now, they were all electric. He hated the humming buzzing noise of the bulbs. But, in a way, it comforted him. There was no threat of fire, of the city burning down. 

He’d been too close to fire once.

It began snowing, gentle little flakes falling from the pinkish-purple sky. First little, then in big fat clumps. People were leaving the streets, going home, finding somewhere warm and dry to spend their evenings. Sandor knew where he was going, he’d go to the bar, sit in his place, and drink until his mind was quiet.

He was very nearly there when he heard singing. 

“A bear there was, a bear, a bear!  
All black and brown and covered in hair!  
Three boys, a goat, and a dancing bear!  
They danced and spun, right to the fair!” 

The voice was soft and pure. She was singing to herself as she collected a sign from outside a shop, folding it and tucking it under her arm. She then plucked up a plant from before the door, dusting snow from the leaves as she sang.

Her hair, he noticed, was tied in a long, long braid down her back. It glistened like fire, even in the dim light. Her fingers were long and elegant, as pale as the snow she dusting away. She was tall and graceful, figure womanly. 

She looked up, seeing him standing there and smiled, even if it was a bit nervous, it was a genuine smile. She had high cheekbones, a lovely face.

And her eyes.

His jaw dropped. Her eyes! The gods, her eyes! Pure crystal blue like the sea.

She turned, heading back into the store. Through the window he spied her setting the plant in the window. She then flitted about, flicking her duster. He watched her mouth move, almost able to hear the words. 

Sandor stumbled turning on his heel, running quickly back the way he came, not caring if he sent people sprawling.

He burst through the door to their little shack. “Tyrion!” He bellowed, snow blowing in around him.

“Gods, close the door!” Tyrion snapped, down to his long johns in front of the hearth, clipping his toenails.

Sandor shook his head. “Get your clothes on, Imp! Quickly!” He panted, flinging Tyrion his coat.

Tyrion slapped it away. “I just got comfortable, hound.” He scoffed. “And I just spread the last of our butter on our final slice of bread. What the hell is it?”

Sandor swallowed, dragging his hand down his face. “I found her!” He pant, excitement filling him.

Tyrion stared at him, brow furrowed low, mouth slack. “Found…who?”

“Her,” Sandor huffed. “Her!”

“Are you saying that somebody met your exorbitant standards?” Tyrion scoffed.

“In the dressmaker’s shop.” Sandor pointed out the door. “I saw her. I swear it.”

Tyrion sighed, rolling his eyes. “Can this not wait? I’m sure the girl will be there come morning.”

Sandor reached in, yanking Tyrion up from the floor. 

“Alright! Alright!” Tyrion kicked his legs in the air. “Give me five fucking minutes!”

Sandor dropped him to the floor, allowing him to dress while the huge man stood, head restlessly twitching from his small companion to the door. He’d no sooner got his boots on than Sandor swept him out and along narrow roads to the dressmaker’s. When they arrived, the girl was in the window dressing the mannequin in a new gown.

Tyrion’s eyes widened. “I see it.” He whispered. He reached out, slapping Sandor on the arm. “My friend…I think we may have a chance.”


	2. Alayne

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Alayne cleared her throat, stopping Tyrion. “Well…as believable as that story is,” she shrugged. “I just don’t think I can pull it off. I don’t know if I can lie like that.”
> 
> “What does it hurt?” Tyrion asked.
> 
> “People,” Alayne answered. “You get his hopes up, my hopes up,” she motioned to Tyrion and Sandor. “You get your own hopes up!” She laid her hand flat against her chest. “You all place your hopes upon me and I just…” She shook her head slowly, looking sad. “Am I the person you want to put your faith in.”

Gods it is cold! She thought as she woke up. She reached around, pulling her quilt up around her ear. “Lady?” She called out, peeling her eyes open to look around the tiny room. The hearth was glowing with a few embers, she scolded herself internally for not stocking it before she went to bed. 

She sat up, bracing on her eblow. “Lady,” she called out, rubbing her eyes. She slipped her legs over the edge of the bed. Without looking she placed her feet into some old, worn men’s slippers. She stood, walking two steps to the wall and took her coat from the hook. 

Her room, in truth, was actually the back entrance to the dress shop she apprenticed in. There was her bed, a table, and then not much else besides the door and window. Alayne had tried to make it as hospitable as possible. She had made curtains for the window with scraps from a dress she’d made. The material a cream colored with a rose pattern. She didn’t have many clothes, just her night gown, her dress for work, and then a dress she wore outside the shop, her shoes, and then a small collection of tights she was pleasantly proud of.

With her slippers and coat she went to the door, opening it against the wind and stepping outside. There was a slight frost on the ground, and every step she made had a crunch-crunch sound to it. She went to the wood pile, picking up a few logs. She looked up, sensing something off with her surroundings. She was always cautious. The back of the dress shop faced the back of a pub, and sometimes Alayne saw people and things she wished she didn’t. In the mornings though, normally no one was there. But this morning there was a hulking figure leaned against the small stone gate.

He was a big man, pitch hair covering his face. Alayne looked around, up at the top window to the apartment where the dressmaker lived, then back at the man. It was a normal occurrence, but it was still one that Alayne did not particularly like. 

The man had a thin layer of frost on him, he must have been out there all night, Alayne thought. She set the logs down, save for one that she could get her hands around good enough, going towards him slowly, cautiously. She nudged him with her foot, kicking his hand out from under his cloak.

“Ser?” She asked. “Excuse me, ser.”

He grumbled low, his voice sounding gravelly and rough.

“You need to move, ser.” Alayne swallowed.

The man’s head lolled to the other shoulder and he sighed.

Alayne turned, picking her logs back up and tossing them into the fire. As soon as stoked she set her kettle over it. 

She made a steaming cup of tea and picked it up, taking it outside. But when she stood on the path, she saw the man was gone.

Behind her Lady keened, nudging her cold, wet nose to her elbow.

“He must of sobered up enough,” Alayne smiled, petting Lady. “Where were you this morning?” She scolded as they made their way back inside. “It was so cold without you in bed!” She chastised the large dog.

If Lady so decided too, upon standing on her hind legs she’d be taller than Alayne. She had been with Alayne since she was a pup, back when Alayne had found her wandering about in a snow bank, howling and baying bloody murder. Alayne babied the dog, trained her to be as polite and courteous as her namesake. When Alayne began working in the dress shop, they had made up a saddle for Lady in which she could help with deliveries. Lady was a popular attraction in the shop and she was spoiled with attention.

Alyane said that she and Lady were meant for one another. They had both been found the same way, wandering lost and alone through the snow with no shoes and a muddy coat. Alayne though, was a ten year-old girl. Orphaned, apparently, and without an ounce of memory to her. She had some cuts and bruises, whipping marks across her back. Perhaps a girl escaped from a sexhouse, someone had suggested once. Maybe the abused daughter of a slave, said another.

Whoever she was, she did not know. She was then named Alayne Stone and set up in the orphanage where she stayed until she turned sixteen. She had been with the dressmaker ever since. And she dared not complain. She had somewhere warm to stay, a bed to sleep in, and steady work. Not many people had that.

“I heard you outside this morning,” Shae said as she came down the stairs. “Who were you talking to?”

“There was a drunk outside.” Sansa answered, pouring another cup of tea. “I didn’t want him to freeze.”

Shae smiled affectionately at Sansa, cupping her chin in her hands. “That kindness of yours is needed in this worl.” She pinched the bridge of Alayne’s nose. “But you must be careful with it. It could get you killed one day.”

Alayne smiled after her. “I wouldn’t want to freeze to death near garbage and the smell of cat urine.” She took a seat by the fire. “So, I don’t believe anyone else would.”

Shae chuckled, sipping the tea Alayne made for her. “Are you ready for today? We have a reservation. So, I’ll need you to make more of that tea, use the good china too. And make those wonderful lemon cakes of yours.”

Alayne nodded. She liked when they had reservations, when the rich women came in for consultations about their dresses, had fitting, got their old dresses fixed, ordered new ones. She enjoyed being around beautiful people, she so loved their manners and speech. But what she loved the most were the beautiful gowns and dresses they had. 

Someday, Alayne thought, I will have a dress as beautiful as the ones that Shae makes.

A few weeks later, Shae came bustling through the shop. “Alayne, it is beginning to snow again. Some of the old women say it is going to be a bad storm coming.” She pointed out front. “I’m going to make us some nice hot tea. Go outside and bring in the sign and the little plant.” She said with a smile. “Then feel free to redress the mannequins in the window if you wish. Something bright to stand out against the white.” Shae whisked out back. Shae was from the South, and these Northern chills bothered her. She didn’t like going outside if she did not need to.

Alayne had been humming all day, unable to get a song out of her head. She began singing as she stepped outside, fat clumps of snowflakes coating her braid and eyelashes. She sang loudly, not afraid if someone were to be listening. As she lifted the plant up she turned, seeing a man standing on the street before their great window.

Alayne smiled at him. Gods, was he big! She continued humming, going back inside where she set the plant on the sill and then went about, dusting and doing a quick cleaning. She glanced to the window every now and then, that man still standing outside looking in. 

Go away, Alayne thought, trying to act as if he weren’t there. Go away, this is not a shop for you! I am not a doll to stare at.

She went to the cedar closet, sorting through the dresses, trying to get passed the summer gowns to the winter ones. She found a nice winter gown to place in the display. It was a cream color with a blue rose pattern. Lemon colored lace, and blue velvet as accents. It was one of her favorites.

She carried it to the front, undressing the mannequin and then hanging the dress and hanging it back in the cedar closet. When she returned to the window to display the dress, she saw the man again. This time he wasn’t alone, he was with someone else. Not just anyone, a sort of local celebrity. Tyrion Lannister, the Imp.

She tried to push out of her mind they were staring at her. They had just come to look at the dress she was displaying. Perhaps Tyrion had one of his women he wanted to impress with a new dress. She heard the stories. She knew how he was looking for a girl to pretend to be the lost princess. 

How cruel, she thought, to trick someone who is looking for his family.

The door opened, the bells ringing as the two men entered the little shop. Alayne watched them nervously, making herself appear as if she were busy.

“Good evening, gentlemen,” Shae eyed them suspiciously but smiled graciously all the same. “Is there anything I can help you with today?”

Tyiron rubbed at his chin, smiling pleasantly at he looked over Shae. “Yes, actually,” he motioned to Alayne in the window.

Shade then spoke quickly. “Oh! Yes, that dress is lovely isn’t it?”

Tyrion mouths opened to speak but Shae was still too quick.

“Alayne, darling, please, come show these men that dress.”

“Wait!” Tyrion huffed. “Wait,” she dropped his hand. “It isn’t the dress I would like to see.”

Shae’s brow furrowed and she scowled. “The manniquin isn’t for sale.” She huffed, knowing very well what he was really talking about. Her arms crossed tightly against her chest and she stared fiery daggers down into Tyrion.

“Now, not to sound salacious or anything, far from,” Tyrion began, speaking as cautiously as if walking on shards of glass. “I would simply like to see the girl.” He swallowed, Shae;s stare not letting up. “I’d like to…ask her a few simple questions.”

Shae sniffed. “She is not mine to give.” She started. “She is under my care and I won’t have-” she looked over Sandor with a disgusted look and then down at Tyrion with the same contempt. “You brutes pawing at her.”

“No pawing!” Tyrion insisted. “Look I simply would like to ask if she would-”

Shae laughed. “I know you.” She tutted, shaking her finger at Tyrion. “The Imp, the one who has been holding all those audtions to try and scam yourself a princess.”

“Ma’am I would-” Tyrion started again.

“Is that what you want?” Shae snapped.

“Yes,” Sandor rasped. “She looks just like her.”

Alayne let out a surprised laugh. All eyes suddenly on her. She shrunk back nervously, swallowing as she tried to hide herself behind the manniquin. “Me?” She chuckled nervously. “Look like a princess?”

“She has the right look,” Tyrion continued. “The right air, eye color, hair.” He motioned to her. “Tall and regal. Stands straight, chin up. Why, she walks like a queen.”

“So?” Shae scoffed. “Just because she happens to be lovely and act like a lady that makes her perfect for your little fraud?”

“That is up to her.” Sandor replied.

Alayne laughed, covering her mouth. “Its silly! I am no princess. And as for the way I walk…I just copy our customers! I am no…princess!” She then shook her head, forcing her bemused smile back. “Besides, that is cruel. Trying to trick someone.” She shook her head slowly. “Some people don’t have family to look for.”

“That is awfully kind of you,” Tyrion walked closer towards her, offering his hand to her so she could step down easily. “But even so, if it works, he gets his family. So do you.”

Alayne looked down at him.

“If Jon believes you to be his sister, isn’t that enough?” He smiled charmingly at Alayne. “And if so, you’ll gain a family. You’ll become a princess. Imagine that story,” he chuckled. “Drug from rags and into the arms of riches.”

Alayne wrapped her arms around herself. “It wouldn’t be riches I’d do it for.”

Tyrion smiled kindly on her. “Of course.” He looked her over quickly. “And what is your name, child?”

“Alayne,” she answered.

“And who are you Alayne?” Tyrion continued.

Alayne laughed again, covering her mouth with both hands. “I am Alayne,” she answered him again. “Who else could I be?” And she truly believed that too. She was just Alayne, an orphan and an apprentice dressmaker. Maybe one day she’d marry, but for all she knew she’d always just be Alayne.

Tyrion smirked. “No, pretty thing,” he took her hand. “You can be more than that if you wish.”

“You’d not have to continue to be a happy little bird, singing in a cage.” Sandor added.

Shae snapped a dirty look up at him. “A cage?”

Alayne swallowed, twisting the end of her braid around her fingers. “I am not sure,” she answered. “Who would ever believe I was a princess.”

Sandor spoke before Tyrion could. “I would.”

Alayne’s eyes brightened, her lips parting slightly.

Tyrion huffed. “I know I am small in stature, but why is everyone talking over me?” He turned to Shae. “Is there perhaps a place we can discuss this?”

Shae’s arms will still crossed, her demanor even more so. “That’s up to Alayne,” she answered him curtly.

“It’s alright Shae,” Alayne walked towards her, putting her hand on her shoulder. “You made tea right?” She nodded to Tyrion and Sandor. “Come, this way. We can dicuss it back here further.”

Shae turned to Alayne, whispering. “Are you sure, child?”

“It is rude to just say no and then kick them out.”

Shae tried to suppress her smile. “But it is so much fun.”

Alayne shook her head, smirking to her as she led Tyrion and Sandor to her little room. 

“I am Tyrion, by the way,” he started as he took his seat. “And this here is my hired man, Sandor.”

Sandor bowed to Alayne and she smiled at him in return. She spied Shae in the doorway, leering at them watchfully.

“How old are you Alayne?” Tyrion asked, watching as Alayne poured tea for them.

“I am eighteen.” She offered a hot cup to Sandor, but he shook his head, turning it away.

“You’re the right age,” Tyrion nodded. “And, do you have any family?”

Alayne took her seat, staring down into her cup. “No.” She answered. “I am an orphan.” She looked up at Tyrion. “I was found when I was ten years old wandering bare foot in Vale.” 

Lady began to stir, moving under Alayne’s quilt and stretching with a grunt.

Tyrion jumped, staring. “I am sorry,” he pointed to the bed. “Are we disturbing someone?”

Alayne shook her head. “Just Lady is all.”

Lady sat up at the found of her name, the quilt falling off of her. She saw Tyrion and Sandor and her ears flattened to the back of her head. She growled low, big teeth glinting in the light of the fire.

“Down Lady,” Alayne commanded softly, and the great dog fell back onto the bed, panting and wagging her tail happily.

“Gods,” Tyrion stared. “What is that?”

“My dog,” Alayne answered simply.

“Looks like a dire wolf to me.” Sandor muttered.

Tyrion’s eyes widened, smile crossing his face. “Direwolf!” He snapped his fingers. “Oh, my darling Alayne, you just keep getting better. It is as if the Gods are smiling upon me now!”

Alayne furrowed her brow. “I beg your pardon?”

“The direwolf, my sweet girl, is the sigil of House Stark!” Tyrion laughed, looking at Lady who was watching him. “You show up with her and well…it’s as if the Gods have been looking after you all this time! Keeping you with your name. Keeping you safe with the symbol of the Starks.” He smiled, plans formulating in his head. “Yes. It is as if you are meant to be the princess.”

“Perhaps I am and I don’t remember.” Alayne chuckled, it sounded so ridiculous to say. I am Alayne, she told herself. 

“Yes!” Tyrion snapped his fingers more. “Yes, just keep thinking that. Oh! Yes! You escaped a horrible attack from Czar Targaryans cat paws! You ran, seeking home, seeking family.” He ran his fingers along the tabletop like legs. “But it was too late!” He smashed a sugarcube under his palm. “Your family in Vale was gone. Your aunt, your cousin, both long dead by the time you reach them.” He blew the sugar away. “You are distraught!” He pulls at his golden locks. “Heart broken!” He clutched his chest. “You don’t notice it, the slick black ice at your feet. You slip! You fall! And your poor little head hit’s the ground.” He lays his head upon his hand, eyes closed. “So that when you awaken,” he eyes snap open. “Oh…oh how awful! You could not remember who you are! You are lost, forgotten,” he reached out, taking Alayne’s hand into his. “And then one day, something came to you,” she snapped his fingers by his temple, making a bewildered face. “Oh! Oh how you ached to return home!”

Alayne cleared her throat, stopping Tyrion. “Well…as believable as that story is,” she shrugged. “I just don’t think I can pull it off. I don’t know if I can lie like that.”

“What does it hurt?” Tyrion asked.

“People,” Alayne answered. “You get his hopes up, my hopes up,” she motioned to Tyrion and Sandor. “You get your own hopes up!” She laid her hand flat against her chest. “You all place your hopes upon me and I just…” She shook her head slowly, looking sad. “Am I the person you want to put your faith in.”

Tyrion smiled sympathetically with Alayne. “We have not had any luck. No one has met the standards we need. And you…” he chuckled. “I think, with the right tutoring, you can be the dream come true.” He smiled reassuringly. “You have the right look. It won’t take us long at all to mold you into a proper princess. You have everything to gain,” he whispered. “Think. There is nothing now to loose.”

“I…” Alayne swallowed. “I will have to sleep on this.”

Sandor came forward instantly then, clapping Tyrion on the shoulder. “Lets go.” He commanded to the Imp.

Tyrion brushed him off. “Yes. Of course, Alayne,” he then chuckled. “Oh, excuse my manners, Sansa.” He took and slapped Sandor’s arm. “We will return tomorrow for your answer.”

Alayne was quiet as they left, too lost in though to give them a proper goodbye. She closed her eyes for a moment, Lady’s head in her lap then.

“That Imp is a fool,” Shae murmured from the door. “But…he is right.” She sat down with Alayne at the table, taking her hands. “If this…scheme works, then imagine everything you gain. Family. Riches. Everything you deserve.” She cupped Alayne’s cheek. “And if it fails? You come back here to me.”

Alayne nodded. “Thank you Shae.” She opened her eyes and smiled upon her. 

Shae smiled, patting her cheek affectionately. She then stood. “I’ll close up the shop tonight.” She waved her hand towards Alayne’s table. You go ahead and make yourself something to eat and get some much needed sleep. It will be a big day tomorrow,” she swallowed, “won’t it?”

Alayne nodded slowly. Yes, she thought, it might be.


	3. The Journey Begins

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Alayne woke, cold drips falling against her cheek. “Lady,” she moaned sleepily, waving her hand above her head. “You’re drooling on me.”  
> The drips stopped and she sighed, snuggling back against Lady’s pelt.  
> “Not drool.” Sandor growled.  
> Alayne jumped up with a start, looking up at Sandor, his cloak stretched over the top of her.  
> “Forget where you were, little bird?” Sandor laughed.

The dress she wore was new. Shae had given it to her, as well as the lemon lace dress from the window, as a farewell and good luck gift. Aside from that, she did not carry much. Just her small bag with her meager few possessions and Lady.

“They will allow Lady on the train, right?” Alayne asked.

“Yes, yes,” Tyrion said between bites of a fatty piece of ham. “She may have to go to the back of train but she will get to ride along.”

Sandor dipped down, slipping his hand around Alayne’s and taking her bag from her.

“Oh,” Alayne gasped, her eyes following him up as he stood. She licked her lips and smiled. “Thank you, ser.”

“I am no ser, just Sandor is fine.”

Alayne pressed her lips in a tight line and nodded, facing forward again. Lady’s leash was slack in her hand. The great dog walked slowly, keeping pace with her master, never pulling or straining her as they made their way through the crowd.

“You two stay here,” Tyrion explained, holding up his book. “Let me go get our reserved tickets and we can hop right on board.” He disappeared back through the crowd as he made his way to the front desk.

Sandor set their bags down, motioning for Alayne to take a seat upon the stone wall. She took the other, her legs trembling a bit from nerves. Lady pant, sitting at Alyane’s feet and playing guard dog along with Sandor.

“I’ve never ridden a train before,” Alyane looked up at Sandor, hoping to squeeze out a few more than two words from him. She twisted her fingers about, fiddling with the tip of her braid. At first, she had been stunned by his appearance. Burns all on one half of his face, one ear almost melted away. His pitch hair all combed to that side in some attempt to cover it. He was big too, tall and board of shoulder. His hands, she noted, looked as if they could wrap around Lady’s neck with ease. She felt unsure around him. She was not used to his type. At least with Tyrion he had a quick wit, she could hold a conversation with him. But with Sandor? He was quiet and angry. She didn’t know how she would hold a conversation.

“It’s cramped is all.” Sandor answered her.

“I can see where you’d be cramped,” she smiled gently at him. 

He watched her from the side. Lovelier each moment, he thought. The more he watched her, the more he saw the princess. She was a perfect replica, it was almost eerie.

He cleared his throat. “Even so. A small, moving box? Anyone could feel confined.”

Alayne nodded. “I suppose so. The journey isn't long is it?”

“Just a few days on the train. Then we can rest and then get ready to make our appearance to Jon Snow at the end of the week.”

Alayne took a deep breath. “A week,” she murmured to herself, clutching onto her knees. She screwed up her mouth and looked back up at Sandor. “What do you gain from this?” She asked. “I mean…why did you agree to help Tyrion.”

“Why does a man do anything?” He answered, holding up his hand. “There are three things that men will always strive for. Sex. Drink. And gold.”

Alayne’s cheeks blushed prettily. “O-oh,” she mouthed.

“All I need is the gold. Then I can get the other two as I please.” Sandor growled crudely. 

Alayne looked down then, pinching her knees together. “Is it really just that simple?” She asked shyly.

“Not every one is as complicated as the world tries to make it seem.” Sandor shook his head. “No.” He sighed. “Some things are just that simple.”

 

Tyrion eventually made his way to the service desk, after having to find a crate to stand upon, he slapped his book on the counter. He had gotten the three tickets from a contact. He slid the tickets on the counter, smiling at the woman in the booth.

“Ser,” the woman started, rolling her eyes slightly. “These aren’t tickets.”

Tyrio furrowed his brow. “Of course they. What the hell do you mean?”

The woman sighed, exacerbated and fed up. “Ser, I know tickets and these ain’t tickets.”

Tyrion stared, a little dumbstruck. “Ain’t?” He repeated spitefully. “Well why AIN’T they?” He snapped, a little spit flying from his lips.

“Forgeries, ser.” The woman went on to explain that where there was black ink, there should be red ink. And vice versa. “Also, the seal,” she added, pointing to the printed seal on the front. “It is supposed to say fire and blood.” She gave him a look, popping her lips out a little. “Not, fier and bloob.”

Tyrion dragged his hand down the entire length of his face. “Oh for fuck’s sake,” he grumbled under his breath. “So what you’re telling me is-”

“Ser, you got dooped.” She lifted her eyes. “Next!”

Tyrion jumped off the crate, taking the fake tickets and what little of his dignity remained. He cussed under his breath the entire way back towards Alayne, the dog, and the direwolf. 

He didn’t have time or money on his side. They needed to get to Winterfell by the end of the week. Jon Snow would not see any more girls claiming to be his sister after that. He slapped the fake tickets across his knuckles, looking at Alayne, the train, Alayne, the train. 

Tyrion plastered on a big smile and ran up to them. “Come on now! No time to laze about and daydream.” He took Sansa’s hand. “Come along now. Must get on the train.”

“Why rush?” Sandor sniffed.

Tyrion laughed, scoffing at him. “Why rush? Ha! Well, I want us to get good seats! Do you want our princess sitting with just anybody?”

“Honestly,” Alayne started. “It doesn’t bother me.”

“No! No!” Tyrion waved it off, ushering them through the crowd and to the train. “You will have to get used to all the luxuries of life, princess.” He said, looking over his shoulder. 

“What about Lady?” Alayne asked.

“Oh, we’ll take her to the back of course!” Tyrion chuckled. He hurriedly ushered Alayne onto the train, smiling all the while at her until she disappeared inside. He whipped around, grabbing Sandor by the collar, on eye-level with him for once. “The tickets were a fake!”

Sandor grabbed him right back. “The fuck are you saying, Imp?” He spat.

“The tickets are fake! We are getting on the train anyways! We will stay in the back!” Tyrion spelled it out for him.

Sandor shook his head. “There must be another way. I won’t have her get caught up in your bloody mistakes!”

Tyrion scoffed, arching his brow. “Certainly are protective over the girl, aren’t you?”

Sandor laughed back at him. “Just because you were a moron does not mean she needs to get caught up in the shitstorm you bring with it.”

Tyrion released him. “We will get there, one way or another.” He hissed. “I am not losing now when I have been playing this game so long. Now get on the train, keep your filthy mouth shut, and do what I am paying you for.” He turned around quickly, running along down the aisle to catch up with Alayne.

She had made her way to the back to the luggage car. She was setting up a place for lady so she would be comfortable. There were sheets and old blankets covering suitcases and luggage, and she used them to make Lady a cozy little nook.

“I’ll come and spend time with you often.” Alayne whispered sweetly as Lady laid down. “Although, Tyrion says I have a lot to learn before I meet with Jon.” She sat down beside Lady, tying her collar to a banister on the door.

Lady whined, laying her head down upon her paws.

“Oh no,” Alayne chuckled. “Don’t start that with me!” She then sighed, laying her head on Lady. She’d not slept the night before. Her mind had been swimming with too many thoughts to be able to do that.

By the time Tyrion and Sandor found her, she was fast asleep. Anytime they tried to approach her Lady growled viciously at them.

“We best hunker down then,” Tyrion sighed, sitting up on a trunk. “No sense in fighting it now. We’ll ride this train to the next stop, get off there and pray to the gods you can steal us some horses.”

Sandor glared at him from his spot on the floor.

“Oh don’t give me that look.” He scoffed. “What other choice do we have?” He waved his hand towards Lady. “I could ride the dog there, but I do not believe she’ll be able to carry much more.”

Sandor rolled his eyes and lowered his head.

“Do you think I like this?” Tyrion continued, slapping his hand to his chest. “Do you think I like stowing away with the luggage?” He stared. “Because I don’t! I am a Lannister,” he poked at his chest. “I am a Lion from Casterly Rock.”

“You no longer HAVE Casterly Rock,” Sandor replied.

“It is my rightful home!” Tyrion barked quietly. “I will have what is mine,” he pointed to Alayne, sleeping prettily against Lady. “And that girl is the key to it! She will unlock a lot of doors for me that my father locked when he suggested that the Czar kill anyone who sympathized with that fucking idiot Baratheon! I did not choose my father but I will choose to take back what is rightfully mine.”

Sandor scoffed.

“You try and mock me but you only fuel my flames further.” Tyrion eased back, crossing his arms. “Jon will see that, much like him, I had what I loved taken away from me.” He sighed. 

“And what will you do if you cannot be a Lannister?” Sandor rasped.

“I will be nothing,” Tyrion muttered defeated, deflating as he leaned back against the luggage. “I will be a dwarf with no name and the world does not see a dwarf with no name. They see a joke. And as such I will kill them all.”

“You couldn’t get your hands around their throats.”

Tyrion began chuckling, then laughing. Sandor laughed with him and the train lurched. A moment later the train began moving along slowly, the whistling blowing loudly as they began their journey.

 

Alayne woke, cold drips falling against her cheek. “Lady,” she moaned sleepily, waving her hand above her head. “You’re drooling on me.”

The drips stopped and she sighed, snuggling back against Lady’s pelt.

“Not drool.” Sandor growled.

Alayne jumped up with a start, looking up at Sandor, his cloak stretched over the top of her. 

“Forget where you were, little bird?” Sandor laughed.

Alayne sat up, looking around the luggage cart. She saw Tyrion, laid sleeping on the top of a plush-covered trunk. She looked over Sandor then everything began falling into the place. 

“We’re having to stowaway, aren’t we?” She asked quietly, looking back up at Sandor.

He nodded. She was smart, already having put it together.

“What will we do then?” She asked.

“Hide until the next stop.” Sandor answered. 

Outside thunder crashed and Alayne ducked, covering her ears and shutting her eyes tight. She whimpered and Lady sat up immediately, going into protective mode and circling around her.

Sandor swallowed, sitting down beside her. “Just thunder. Nothing to fear.”

“I hate loud noises,” Alayne whimpered, trembling. “I always have.” She eased closer to Sandor, feeling safer under his arm.

Lady laid across both their laps, warming them and protecting them. She licked Sandor’s hand. 

“It’ll be over soon,” Sandor answered, the rain belting down heavily on the car. “Just go to sleep again.” Alayne clung to him, and he tensed. Looking down at her, rain running down his face, he remembered eight years ago.


	4. The Lion of Casterly Rock

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tyrion sighed. He’d never known a mother‘s love, never known a sister’s for that matter. Feminine affection not purchased with coin was new to him. He took the spot beside her, Lady’s head resting in his lap. It was warm and comfortable, and Alayne didn’t shrug away when he rested his head against her arm.

The only person who stood up for him was Jaime. Glorious, golden Jaime. The chosen one, a true king who would never be one. Cersei certainly didn’t stand up for Tyrion, she never said a word to him. And his father? Tyrion drank most times just to forget that bitter old lion.

It had actually been no surprise that, when the backlash came after Czar Targaryan had slaughtered most of the North, his family would be the first to taste the bitter consequences. He also knew that he would be the first to go from his father’s graces. He didn’t realize though, that Jaime would fight so hard for him. But even chosen Jaime wasn’t enough to save him.

Tyrion always knew he was an outcast, even as a Lannister. But when he was kicked out, stripped of everything but his name, he knew that even outcast would be a luxury for him. But thank the gods he was smart. They couldn’t take that from him. He was able to scarp by with the wits he had, the knowledge he’d made sure he had from an early age. He got by, out smarted, and for eight years every breath he took was to take back what was her birthright, what his name demanded he have before his father ever could.

When the reward for Sansa Stark was announced Tyrion knew he had found his saving grace. He knew there was no chance in seven hells that he’d ever find the real Sansa. But he was smart enough to find a suitable replacement. He knew the histories intimately, the families and stories. He could teach up a suitable girl, train her to sing like a bird. He’d show the Stark bastard that he was nothing like his father, that he didn’t deserve what had had happened to him. Jon would be grateful, he’d apologize and give Tyrion what he could in gratitude. 

That’s what he hoped anyways. 

But as years trickled down, and a decree was announced that after December, Jon would no longer accept appearances by girls claiming to be his sister. Tyrion had run out of time. His hope was fading fast along with his money. And than Alayne came and hope began to build back inside him. He’d do anything to take her to Jon Snow. He had to. Alayne was his lucky charm now.

He fell, hitting the damp floor of the baggage car. He rolled, sliding until her hit the door. Water came pouring in in thick, muddy sheets at and away from him. He braced himself up, spitting and cursing.

“About time you came to!” Sandor shouted. Alayne was tightly holding on around his waist as they tried to stand on the slanted floor.

“What the fuck happened?” Tyrion shouted as he tried to find his balance and stand.

“The train slid!” Alayne called to him. “The rain,” she slipped some and Sandor caught her, picking her from the floor. “The rain caused an avalanche and knocked some of the cars.”

Tyrion stood finally and looked around. The floor was just tilted enough things we sliding slowly towards the opposite side. The muddy rain making it hard to stand even more so. Lady was jumping from trunk to trunk, it was like she climbing a mountain, easy for her.

“Well,” he wiped his hand along his face. “This certainly does put a damper on our lovely trip.”

Alayne laughed quietly for him, but Sandor just cursed gruntingly under his breath.

Tyrion pointed to the door. “Can we get out?” He asked.

“Lots of mud,” Sandor retorted. 

Tyrion pointed to the opposite side where the luggage was headed. “Then what about that door? Might be a bit of a fall but we can at least get ourselves out of this death trap.”

Lady stood still, throwing her head back and baying loudly, a warning beacon.

Tyrion looked at her, shaking his head at Alayne. “She’s not going to kill us is she?”

Alayne shook her head back at him. “Last time she howled like that, the orphanage kitchen caught fire.”

Tyrion swallowed. “That’s comforting,” he huffed.

“We don’t know what we’re facing,” Sandor started, motioning to the opposite door. “We could be off a mountainside, over a lake, who knows?” He pulled Alayne up closer, his arm around her waist, his other reaching up and holding onto a beam. “We’ve not moved yet. Lets stay put until we hear something. Surely they’re trying to dig us out.”

Lady bayed again.

“I do not like our odds.” Tyrion shook his head. “I do not enjoy the waiting one bit.”

Alayne swallowed. “What if we open both doors?” She suggested. Tyrion looked up towards her with his brow furrowed. “We open the bottom door,” she continued with a reassuring smile. “Then we open this one.” She pointed above her. “Whatever is on top of us will fall through and out through the other door. Then we’ll be able to get out easily.”

“That’s actually quite ingenious.” Tyrion whispered, his mind whirring away as he began formulating a plan. “I’ll get down on the bottom and open the door. Then I’ll try and make my way back up towards you.” He opened a trunk, digging through it, tossing things away. He then pulled out a handful of leather belts. “We’ll use these.” He pointed to the lever that opened the door. “We’ll fashion this into a handle. Stand for enough away so we don’t get caught in the fall,” he then acted as if he were pulling. “Then we yank this and make our escape.”

“You sure it won’t knock us loose?” Sandor asked. “All that mud and shit could be the only thing holding us in place.”

Tyrion shrugged, shaking his head. “What other choice have we got? All we have right now is falling off the side of a mountain or listening to Alayne.” He dropped his hand, his fist clinching tighter over the wad of belts. “Worse case scenario, we all die.” He smiled nervously. “In that case? Well…I hope we all meet up in a better place.” He tossed the belts to Alayne who caught them deftly. He then slid his way down, Lady jumping after him and biting down on his collar, holding him steady as he made his way to the door.

Alayne began fashioning the belt handle, attaching the belts and then looping them around the handle of the door. Sandor moved them aside, getting them as far and as tightly packed into the corner as he could. He placed himself before her, wedging her in against his back and taking the rope of belts.

Tyrion fought with the door, fumbling and struggling to get it open.

Above them, Alayne heard a low rumbling. It wasn’t thunder. No. This was something else. Like the trampling hooves of a million war horses running across the earth. He braced her hands upon Sandor’s shoulders and squeezed.

“Tyrion!” She called.

He managed by then to wrench the door open a bit. It was dented and scarping against rock. “I’m doing my best, dammit!”

“He needs help,” Alayne murmured to Sandor.

He took her hand, placing the belt rope in it. He then took her other hand and had her hold onto a beam. “Hold tight. Stay put.” He motioned to the handle. “If anything happens, open that door, even if we’re still down there.”

Her eyes widened. “But-”

He snapped at her. “Not buts, little bird! Save your ass first. Always save yourself first.” He left her, sliding down to aid Tyrion.

Lady took Tyrion at that moment, dragging him up the slick floor and back towards Alayne. She reached out, using the belt rope to grab a hold is hand and pull him up.

“You have a damn smart dog here,” Tyrion chuckled.

Lady ran back down, going to Sandor and standing beside him as he wrenched the door open, showing that, indeed, they were almost off the side of a cliff.

The rumbling from above was fast approaching, growing louder by the second. Thuds and the sounds of pounding fists were hitting above their heads. Dirt and mud, the mountain itself coming towards them.

“Sandor, hurry!” Alayne cried out. “Lady!”

Lady whimpered, trying to tug Sandor away from the door.

“Bugger off, dog!” Sandor barked at her, swinging at her to make her run off. But Lady stayed by him, nipping at his collar and sleeve.

There was a groaning, sheets of mud now pounding down upon their car. They shifted, luggage slipping out the open door and crashing onto the rocks below. 

“Lady!” Alayne cried.

“Sandor you bloody bastard!” Tyrion shouted at the top of his lungs.

Sandor grabbed Lady, pushing her behind him. “Just open the door!” The car shifted more, luggage striking Sandor’s head.

Alayne cried out, her hand grasping Tyrion‘s tighter. “What about-”

“Open the door NOW!” Sandor exploded.

Tyrion and Alayne’s hands, bound by the rope belt, both moved, tugging to open the door. Lady bayed loudly, reassuringly Alayne that she would be safe. 

Mud sheeted through, barreling through the open door, knocking anything it’s way out through the open door. The car shifted more, leaning almost all the way over. Alayne and Tryion gripped onto one another, holding on for dear life to the metal banister. 

“Just relax!” Tyrion shouted to her as rocks now beat down on the car. “I lived through a war! This is nothing!”

“But Sandor-” Alayne strained.

“Don’t worry about him!” Tyrion called over the avalanche going passed them. “It will take more than mud to kill him!”

The car began tilting back the way it came, the relief from the debris moving easing it back onto the tracks. Alayne sighed with relief as she felt her feet touch the ground again. She screamed in the same breath, a great rock caving in the roof almost to her head.

“Duck and weave, sweetling, duck and weave.” Tyrion chuckled, pulling her away.

Lady was in the corner whimpering, nosing what looked like a mound of dirt. 

Alayne caught her breath, her fist clinched tight over her chest. “Where’s Sandor?” She pant.

Tyrion looked around, pointing to Lady and her menstruations. “I think your pup knows.”

Alayne’s hand slipped from his and she dashed across the car, standing beside Lady and her fingers digging through the dirt. It wasn’t dirt through, it was Sandor’s shoulder. His hand came out, grasping onto her hand, pulling himself up.

“I’m alright, little bird,” he coughed.

Alayne sighed in relief. “I was afraid you’d fallen out.”

He scooped mud from his face, and for a moment Alayne thought that perhaps his scars had vanished. “Don’t worry over an old dog like me.” He rasped quietly. “I am easily replaced.”

Alayne reached into her pocket, taking out her handkerchief and wiping at his face with it, careful to remove the mud and dirt from his eyes so it didn’t fall in. 

Tyrion went out the door, looking up the tracks and seeing lights flashing back and forth in the rain. People were shouting. Some other cars had been covered by the avalanche and they were trying to dig them out.

“Looks like we are stuck,” He sighed as he eased back into the car.

“What do we do then?” Alayne asked. “Wait?”

“No,” Tyrion sniffed. “I am tired of waiting.” He pointed out the door. “Come daylight, we begin walking. No sense in waiting around here for who knows how long. More than likely they will begin evacuating us anyways. Come morning, anyways, we’ll have our answers. Aside from that, we don’t have the time to sit here and do nothing.”

Alayne looked at Sandor, trying to scrape as much mud from himself as he could. He was utterly filthy. There were a few things of luggage still about so she began searching, looking for something he could perhaps change into. If not, her bag was still on her back, and she could sell her beautiful lemon lace dress to buy him clean clothes.

She found a rather nice coat, and it looked big enough too. Under it were several shirts and some nice dress pants. She put together an outfit for him and took the bundle to him.

“Here’s a change,” she said, offering it up under his inquisitive eye.

“Not above stealing are you?” Sandor sniffed.

Alayne turned red. “Well…I doubt anyone suspect their luggage survived so…” she hesitated looking down.

Sandor took the bundle. “Best keep thinking that.” He grunted. He tugged his ruined shirt away, ripping some as he pulled it over his head.

Alayne turned away, Tyrion laughing at her reaction. “Don’t be crude, Sandor. Poor girl has probably never seen a chest hair before.”

“I beg your pardon!” Alayne snapped at him. 

Tyrion snorted, waving his hand at Sandor. “Go hide yourself, man. You disgust me.” He then smiled at Alayne. “I beg your forgiveness, princess. If I do not make a joke, I may lose my mind.”

Alayne looked at her hands, covered in mud and fuzz from the trunk. “I have seen many a young man topless.” She replied, back stiff, posture perfect. “It was my duty at the orphanage to collect the laundry.” She was still blushing though, giving her away. She’d seen children and at most young boys. She’d never seen a man like Sandor. Gnarled and chisled, hairy. What Tyrion had said was not far off. Although, one of the women she made dresses for had quite a few chest hairs, hence her unfashionable high collars.

Tyrion turned over a trunk and sat upon it, groaning as his joints popped. “Gods save me if I ever ride a train again.”

“Gods save you from buying forgeries.” Alayne retorted, resting beside Lady, curling into her fur and warmth.

Tyrion smirked, lowering his head. “Oh fuck, you’re smart.” He chuckled.

Sandor came out from the dark corner, buttoning the dark coat up to his chin, chilled to the bone from the mud and rain. “Thank the gods she’s smart, or we could be crushed to pulp by the avalanche.”

Alayne looked up from Lady and tried to suppress her smile. “Thank you,” she murmured to him.

“No, princess,” Tyrion sighed. “Thank you.” He laid back against the trunk and cursed to himself in some language Alayne didn’t understand.

“I suppose it’s best you keep referring to me as such,” Alayne murmured, hoping to steer the conversation a new way. “Princess I mean,” she swallowed. “Call me Sansa from now on so I shall get used to it.”

Sandor leaned against the wall opposite of her, arms crossed tight. “Getting committed, are you?”

“After this?” She waved her hand about the car. “I am not risking being sent back.” She answered, smiling slightly.

Sandor snorted, easing down onto the floor. He stuffed his hands into his pockets, trembling slightly from exposure. His face was still muddy, hair caked and slicked back from his face. She could see the full extent of his scars now. Most of his hair gone, his ear melted away.

She patted Lady on the head and the two of them moved towards them, Lady laid across his lap, and Alayne sat beside him close enough that she shared her body heat. He sniffled, grumbling to himself, but not leaning away from her.

Tyrion turned his head, looking them over. Strange how the girl flocked to him. Perhaps she was not used to feeling protected and sheltered. The Hound maybe filled something in her life she’d not been given.

She looked up, catching Tyrion’s eye. She smiled and patted the seat beside her. “It’s still cold, but it is better than nothing.”

Tyrion sighed. He’d never known a mother‘s love, never known a sister’s for that matter. Feminine affection not purchased with coin was new to him. He took the spot beside her, Lady’s head resting in his lap. It was warm and comfortable, and Alayne didn’t shrug away when he rested his head against her arm.

As Tyrion closed his eyes he thought of something he had once heard uttered somewhere deep in his memory. “The lone wolf dies, the pack survives.” For a moment, he thought, perhaps this was his pack. And not the lions that had been forced from Casterly Rock.


	5. A Memory

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The lady just looked down her nose at Sansa, which the girl didn’t care about. That woman, Sansa thought, probably wouldn’t recognize a kindness if I slapped her with it.  
> But Sandor, he took the disappointed look in her eyes as hurt. He thought that the woman had smite Sansa with the cold stare and he stepped forward. “You will respect my lady,” he rasped.

Jon sat alone by the fire, holding his long fingers against his temples. He looked as if he had a persisting headache. But he was just tired, a little more than sick of the heartbreak. Every time a girl came claiming to be Sansa a little hope in him bloomed. But, almost too quickly, that little bloom died as soon as he saw the girl. 

“You won’t learn will you?” Daenerys asked him. “You must learn to not get your hopes up. You must learn to block it out. It never ends happy. You always end up sick and tired.”

“That is why I decided to end it.” Jon murmured. “That is why, if she does not come home by the end of the month, I will no longer accept claims.”

Daenerys would smile sadly. She would not argue with him or push the subject further. She knew he had not the heart for it. But she knew how he felt, she knew that for him giving up was going to be the last straw. His heart would break then and after that he may never leave Winterfell again. 

She reached out, touching his hand. “I do pray she comes, Jon.” She whispered.

Jon was glad he had the Dragon Queen as his friend. He felt deep in his heart he had made the right choice to decline the betrothal, he wasn’t right for her. She was too strong for him. 

It was this same feeling that led him to believe that Sansa was still alive. 

He replayed that night over and over in his mind. He was just barely sixteen, but he thought he was as strong as the walls of Winterfell. He believed he was some great warrior who could protect him family and save them. But when Czar Targaryans assassins came, he learned quickly that was not the case. He was just a boy. The best he could do was try and save who he could.

He saw Catlyn fall. He heard Robb’s angry cries as Ned was taken. He ran, he had to find the little ones. Bran and Rickon, Arya and Sansa. He heard screams and crying, but they all seemed to come from everywhere. Bran and Rickon probably died with Catlyn or Robb. Arya could have been with their father. But Sansa? Perhaps he had hopes of finding her.

He kicked down Sansa’s door and he was struck upside the head with the hilt of a sword.

“No!” Sansa screamed. “No! No! Don’t hurt him! That’s Jon! That’s Jon!” She cried pitifully and relieved at the same time.

Through smoke and bleary eyes Jon looked up, seeing Sansa wriggle to the ground from the arms of a giant. Sansa held Jon in her arms, tight and unrelenting. She cried and sobbed into Jon’s chest.

“I am sorry,” a gravely voice replied. “I was trying to protect the girl.”

“Quite alright,” Jon clutched onto Sansa. “I would have done the same.”

“I can get her away,” the man said. “I can give her to a Septa and the two can be out of the walls by nightfall.”

“How?” Jon asked. “Why?”

“I am loyal to Winterfell,” the man answered. “I would gladly die protecting it’s blood. I will fight and make sure she is safe and out of sight.” He stooped down, helping Jon stand with a rough hand. “People are afraid of me. I can keep her safe. And I’ll kill anyone who lays a hand on her.”

“Jon?”

He was snapped from his thoughts, looking up to the source of the voice that had done it. In walked his personal bodyguard, Brienne. She had a worried expression on her face, her lips pulled into a tight line, blue eyes full of worry.

“What’s wrong?” He asked, rising from his chair.

“It is a letter,” she swallowed. She then extended the crisp, white envelope. The writing on the front was ornate and precise. And on the back a great red wax seal.

Jon took it, looking it over with a dubious eye. It showed nothing to worry about but if it had Brienne worried there must be something. He looked to her, inquisitively. 

“A crow just delivered it.” She murmured quietly. “The seal,” he motioned to him to flip the envelope over. “Look at it.”

Jon did so, seeing the wax seal had a lion in its center.

 

“I was coming to check on my dog when it happened,” her voice sounded distressed and panicked. “My uncles came looking for me when the avalanche started and we got trapped.” Sandor peeled his eyes open, stuck together by a crust of dried mud. She was talking to a man in a uniform, Lady whimpering at her feet.

“Alright then,” the man answered. “You best hurry and get to the car ahead. It will take you to the next town where you can rest.”

“Thank you, ser.” She gasped.

“I’ve heard better lying,” Sandor chuckled as the man walked away.

She turned, sniffing at him. “Better be glad he didn’t ask for our tickets.” She knelt down, patting Tyrion on the cheek. “Time to wake up. We can catch an emergency car to the closest town.”

Tyrion snorted, swatting at her hand and then jerking his head around. “Oh,” he cleared his throat. “I was having such a good dream.” He stretched.

“We don’t care to hear it,” Sandor huffed, dry mud crusting from his hair.

“Oh, too bad,” Tyrion stood. “It was awfully nice.”

They made their way to the head of the train, standing with a group of people just as disheveled and shaken as they were. Although, a trio like them stood out like an awfully sore thumb. A girl with a giant wolf. A burnt giant. And an oddly gilded imp. 

A little girl whispered to her mother, another woman whispered to her husband. A little boy came forward from the crowd, staring wide-eyed at Lady. The dire wolf recognized the chance at attention, at pats and giggles. Her stance spread, her tongue lolled out, and she panted excitedly. The little boy smiled and came forward, reaching out with a porcelain-white hand which Lady lapped at happily. The little boy squealed with delight, and just as instantly a woman pulled him away.

This broke Sansa’s heart, not just the disappointed and expectant look in Lady’s eyes, but the morose look on the little boy and the stern glare of his mother. 

“Lady is a good dog,” Sansa said softly. “She’s trained and she’s very gentle.”

The lady just looked down her nose at Sansa, which the girl didn’t care about. That woman, Sansa thought, probably wouldn’t recognize a kindness if I slapped her with it.

But Sandor, he took the disappointed look in her eyes as hurt. He thought that the woman had smite Sansa with the cold stare and he stepped forward. “You will respect my lady,” he rasped.

The woman’s eyes widened enough to match her son’s.

Sansa tugged on Sandor’s elbow. “Sandor, no it’s-” 

“You know not who you speak to, nor do you deserve to.” Sandor continued, slowly simmering and coming to a full boil. “You should feel honored she’d allow your welp to even touch her dog!”

“Stop it! Stop!” Sansa pushed him back, a feat that would take a man three times her size to do, but it barely took Sansa any effort at all to sway him. 

Her touch turned the flames down, he stopped boiling and returned to his regular simmering anger. The woman quickly took her son and moved away from them, leaving some people chuckling behind her.

Sansa huffed. “There was no sense in that,” she shook her head. “Why should it matter to you what people think of me?”

“You’re the princess,” Sandor answered.

For a moment Sansa believed him, she felt a bit pained and surprised as if her mind were singing, oh yes, that’s right! She then smiled, chuckling. “She wouldn’t know that,” she pat Sandor’s arm. “I didn’t either!” She smiled brightly.

In her smile, Sandor melted a bit. His tense posture slacking as she giggled at what she thought had been a joke from him.

“Here I thought you were a humorless bastard,” Tyrion chuckled.

“No, that’s just you.” Sandor answered, stiffening up again.

Tyrion shook his head. “Oh right, I almost forgot.” He slapped Sandor’s side. “Thank you for reminding me.”

 

By later afternoon they arrived in the small village along the King’s Road Railways. It was a tourist trap that mainly made its money from the people who wandered about waiting on the next train. It was also surrounded by great pine trees. For miles it was just green needles, topped by snow. Sansa inhaled deeply, the air clean and lightly scented from the trees. She stepped out off the platform with Lady under her palm.

“We’ll find somewhere to eat and sleep,” Tyrion began as she counted the few coins in his palm. “Tonight also Al…Sansa, we will begin your studying.”

Sansa turned and nodded towards him.

“You need to begin learning the histories and memorizing them.” They continued walking, looking through buildings to find somewhere with cheap rooming.   
“All she needs to do is impress Jon Snow,” Sandor grunted. “He don’t care about none of them bloody histories. It’s stories she needs.”

“Stories,” Tyrion sighed. “Such as?” He stared up expectantly at Sandor. “Really, how am I to teach her anything if I don’t know it myself? There are very few people who would know the inner workings of the Stark family. How they ate their eggs. How they took their coffee. Who had the worst singing voice.” He shook his head. “We will have to rely on histories and their stories. Sansa was a good student, she’d remember these things.”

Sansa had her eyes down, the idea of eggs knocking something off of one of the dusty shelves in her mind. 

I eat my eggs sunny side, she thought. I knew someone once who boiled them for three minutes and then chopped the top of the egg off. He’d draw faces on them, act like he was cutting off someone’s head. She smiled to herself, a warmth filling her she’d not felt in a long while. I tried not to laugh, mother said it was vulgar.

Sansa‘s brow creased. “Mother?” 

Tyrion and Sandor halted, looking back at Sansa inquisitively. 

“Did you say something dear?” Tyrion asked.

Sansa looked up to them, mouth open. She closed it slowly and shook her head. “No I just…it was silly.”

Mother thought it was vulgar, she repeated to herself. Mother? Mother…why did I think that? Where did it come from? She thought worriedly.

They found a rather seedy pub, above it two rooms were available. But Tyrion only had enough coin for one. The room was tiny and cramped and it stunk. Below they could hear every whisper and voice in the pub. Sansa went to the bed, but Lady wouldn’t even lay near it, let alone on it.

“I am sorry,” Tyrion apologized to her. “This is no place for a princess such as yourself.” He looked around the room, grimacing a bit. “I’ll go down and see if they have any…any clean linins.” He turned, going out of the room.

Sandor pulled out a chair, dusting it off and offered it to Sansa. 

“Thank you,” she sat down, the chair squeaking and whining as she did. She folded her hands in her lap and sighed. “Better than nothing I suppose.” She smiled gratefully at Sandor who turned his eyes down.

“You said I should know stories to impress Jon Snow,” she continued, trying to catch his attention again as he went to a murky sink in the corner. 

The water ran clear at least, he thought.

“What sort of stories?” Sansa asked.

Sandor turned on the water and held his head underneath.

“I thought…I had a memory a moment ago.” She admitted. “About a man and how he ate his eggs.”

Sandor went to reach for a towel, but decided it would be best to wipe himself off with his cloak. 

“Stories like that?” She looked up at him.

He met her blue eyes and he sighed. “You had a memory?”

“Or something,” she shrugged. “I’m not sure what it was. But…I found myself thinking how I would laugh at how the man at ehis eggs…and well,” she laughed. “I thought that, I’d try not to laugh because my mother thought it was vulgar.”

Sandor watched her, almost holding his breath.

“But I never knew my mother.” Sansa sighed. “So, I have no idea what it was I was thinking.” He fists clinched tight against her knees.

Sandor sat down across from her. “How old were you, when you went to the orphanage?” He asked.

“I was ten.” Sansa answered, looking up at him.

“That would be the same age as the princess.” He rubbed his fingers along his jaw. “You’ve lost your memory then?”

“I can’t remember anything before they found me in Vale.” She answered honestly. “So for all I know, I may have memories hidden from me.”

Sandor nodded. “I don’t understand why Tyrion doesn’t just work with that angle.” He looked Sansa over, it was the millionth time he’d done so. She was lovely, yes and he enjoyed looking at her. But also, there was no doubt in his mind who she was. If she was anyone else but the princess he’d burn the rest of his face. He wanted to pick her up and shake her, make her remember, make her believe she was Sansa Stark, the true Queen of the North. But he pushed that all down. She’d realize in time and Jon Snow would take one look at her and know in his heart his blood had returned to him.

“Tyrion said it was you who found me.”

Sandor looked up at her, heart hammering. 

“You have faith in me then?”

Sandor reached out, then reeled his hand back. “First thing I’ve had faith in.” He answered her truthfully.

Sansa reached up, her fingers going through his hair, removing some earth and some small bits. “Its good that mud is out.” She said gently, wiping her hand on the dingy tablecloth. 

“Thanks you,” Sandor grunted, feeling embarrassed and raw around her.

“I am afraid though,” Sansa murmured, to which Sandor snapped his eyes up to her immediately. “I am afraid that, once I get there I will have to turn back.” She met his eyes, feeling safer in his gaze. “And if I turn back…I am lost.”

Sandor reached out again, more sure this time, his fingers going for her cheek.

“Bloodu fucking hells,” Tyrion burst into that room at that exact moment. His hair was damp, his eyes bloodshot.

Sandor stood up, pulling away from Sansa.

“What happened?” Sansa gasped.

“Apparently,” Tyrion spat. “There is something funny about me.” He scoffed angrily, running his hands over himself.

Sansa stood up, going to him and wiping his face with the hem of her skirt. “That is cruel.”

“No, no, dear.” He smiled at Sansa, her concern a bandage to the wound he’d suffered. “Go sit down. Food will be here shortly.” He went to the fireplace, tossing wood inside. “I’ll just send Sandor down from now on is all.”

Sandor stood at the door, looking down. If Tyrion had not of come in, he knew he would of tried and kissed her. It is best, he thought, I didn’t.


	6. A Lion in Wait

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “What if I forget who I am?” Sansa asked. “What if no one likes me.” She swallowed the painful lump in her throat away. “If Jon Snow does think I am his sister I mean,” she watched Sandor, his shadow growing again. “I don’t want to loose myself. I like myself quite a bit but…who knows right?” She forced herself to laugh. “What if I become cruel like some royals?”  
>  “You won’t,” Sandor answered, his voice chocked.

Chapter Six:   
The craggy walls, cold to the touch and damp, reminded her of the cellars back in her old home. A den once occupied by lions, now taken over and ravaged by wolves. 

Well, a wolf. All the other wolves were dead.

She still held herself like a queen. She still considered herself the daughter of lions and took pride in that. What else could she take pride in now? A bastard son? A cold damp pile of rocks? Maybe the old tapestries they had managed to escape with?

No.

Thinking on what they had lost, what still remained and lay just beyond her reach, she felt bile boil up into the back of her throat. Casterly Rock tormented her, it was her home, her birthright, and that fucking welp of a bastard now held it in his hands.

She was lucky her looks had held up. She had been able to charm many a man into seeing through her eyes. Amazing, she thought, what men will do for a warm body in their bed. She chuckled bitterly at herself. More than anything, she hated what she had allowed herself to become. Nothing more than a common whore.

At least she had gold now. She had ears to whisper into her. Hands to direct. Yes, she now could at least begin to rebuild. Perhaps then her father would smile at her. Being banished had done nothing but harden him further. He had gone silent and locked himself away. She and her brother did not know if it was madness or simply hate that drove him to it. He’d never say to them.

Jaime had left her. He had promised he would return, but ravens here and there were not enough to keep her hopeful anymore. He’d abandoned her. He might of well of just killed her if this was going to be how he showed his love.

All Cersei could, and would, rely on now was herself. She’d not betray, she’d not lie, and she’d not run away like everyone else did. Had her father not abandoned Tyrion, she wouldn’t be able to savor in this small victory. Tyrion would of taken it from her. He would of twisted words and minds to make them think it was all his doing.

Thank god the Imp was gone, Cersei sighed. 

Still though, she made sure he was not forgotten. She kept an eye upon him, watching his every slithery move in this world. He would not come back to haunt her. He’d stay gone for good until his miserable death.

Their solitary servant came into the room, lifting to her a letter on a platter. Cersei took the latter, expecting it to be another half-assed attempt at solace from Jaime. Slicing her finger through the envelope she saw right away the writing was not Jaime’s at all. It was a mess of chicken scratch that took her some time to decipher. 

She read it over once, twice, and a third time just to make sure. She took a deep breath and looked up, staring into the darkness of the room. Just when she thought she was close, when she had some hope, of course it would be Tyrion to rip it away.

She sent her servant away with gold. “Don’t come back until you find him.” She snarled through razor fangs. “You’ll not mistake him. So do not lie to me and say you couldn’t!”

She paced the room, wringing the letter in her fists. She didn’t seem to calm until a hulking shadow came into the room. A smirk spread across her lips, melting her tension away like warm chocolate.

“Thank you for coming,” she stood where she was. “I need you to kill someone for me.” She let her hands fall to her sides. “The Imp, Tyrion,” she hissed. “Can you do it?”

The figure nodded and Cersei’s grin blossomed. 

“I’ll pay you half now and half when you return with his head.” She tossed the bag of gold across the floor to his feet. She watched as she stooped to pick it up, rubbing the gold between his fingers, a crooked grin spreading across his lips.

“Do we have a deal…Gregor?”

He looked Cersei over, a hungry look that she took notice of. “Aye,” he slipped the gold into his pocket. 

“Kill him, and anyone with him.” She answered tersely. “I don’t care as long as the Imp is impaled on your sword.”

“No worries,” Gregor sniffed. “Will be easy.”

She nodded slowly. “And I pray that it is.”

 

Sansa did not sleep easy. She tossed and turned, dreams that seemed to fidget and shift and make her uncomfortable and agitated. She woke, cold and the smell of the room making her feel ill. 

She sat up, peering around the dark room. The loose slats of the ceiling letting in slivers of shimmering lights that allowed her to see Tyrion asleep on the floor. Sandor was sitting in a chair, turning away from the fire. His head was dropped, as if he were asleep, but his hands twitched oddly in his lap. Watching, Sansa saw he was turning a knife around. The blade caught in the moonlight, glinting brightly.

“Can you not sleep?” She squeaked out.

His head raised, but in the shadows she could not tell if he was looking at her or further into the shadows.

“If you want to sleep…I can keep a look out.” Sansa suggested timidly. Wondering if perhaps, he was staying up to make sure no rough stranger tried to burst into their room.

“Go on back to sleep,” Sandor answered. 

Sansa hugged her knees to her chest. “I can’t,” she admitted. “I keep having dreams.”

Sandor spit, and quite close to Tyrion’s head. “That’s what sleep is for.”

Laying down might not hurt, Sansa thought. He seems peeved. “I don’t like these dreams though.” 

His shoulders raised some, his back straightening as her voice picked up. “Then tell them to fuck off.”

Sansa chuckled softly, watching his figure in the shadows grow. “I was taught that saying words like that would get me slapped.”

Sandor looked over his shoulder then shrugged. “I speak that way quite consistently.” he hissed. “I have not been slapped.”

Sansa blinked, his voice quiet and cautious in the darkness. She’d not been brought up around many men. In the orphanage, when the boys turned sixteen they were turned out. Much earlier than the girls. There weren’t many boys who weren’t taken though, a good strong lad was always needed. And by the time she was old enough, she was taken in by Shae. And not many men came into the dress shop. If she had to be honest, Tyrion and Sandor were her first long interaction with men. And how different they were! Nothing like she expected.

“They teach you what to say and how to act?” Sandor asked in her silence. “Train you up like a pretty little bird those nuns did?”

Sansa frowned. “I suppose so.” She answered truthfully. “Us girls were taught that way.” She turned towards him, her legs curling up underneath her. “We were prepared to be…maids and home keepers. People do not expect many words from you. And when they do, you better say the correct things.”

“Aye,” he grunted. “Same could be said of a princess.”

Sansa’s eyes lowered. “I suppose it could.” She nodded.

Sandor was silent after that, his eyes falling back onto his blade. 

“I am…afraid.” Sansa’s voice a soft quake.

He didn’t look up, he forced himself not to.

“What if I forget who I am?” Sansa asked. “What if no one likes me.” She swallowed the painful lump in her throat away. “If Jon Snow does think I am his sister I mean,” she watched Sandor, his shadow growing again. “I don’t want to loose myself. I like myself quite a bit but…who knows right?” She forced herself to laugh. “What if I become cruel like some royals?”

“You won’t,” Sandor answered, his voice chocked.

“What?” Sansa sniffled, unsure of what he had said.

He shook his head. “Go back to sleep, little bird. Our journey will be long and hard and sleep might be rare until we reach your home.”

Sansa laid down, but she kept her eyes on him. “You seem so sure.” She murmured. “I wish I could be.”

“We cannot afford to be anything else.” Sandor placed his blade back into his belt. “If we are not sure, then no one will be. Sleep.”

Sansa pulled the her cloak back up around her. “Sorry if I bothered you.”

He sniffed. “You think if you bothered me I’d be talking to you?”

She smiled, comforted and happy in his words even if he was trying to be mean. She closed her eyes, trying to find sleep again, and failing.

Lady moved from her feet and off the bed, stepping gingerly over Tyrion and then settling beside Sandor, her head in his lap.

His hand came down, stroking her from muzzle to the tip of her ears.

When dawn came he stood, leaving them in the room. He left his blade behind, sitting it on the table beside Sansa’s bed. Lady whimpered and keened at the door, pacing around in front of it before sitting for her turn of guard duty. She looked so proud of herself and Sansa had to chuckle.

Sansa sat up, carefully stepping over Tyrion snoring on the floor. She tucked under Tyrion’s head her pillow and then silently crept across the floor. She tucked her hair under her hood and patted Lady’s head as they snuck out of the door.

She walked out onto the dreary street. People walking sluggishly, barely awake and probably still drunk through the freshly fallen snow. Sansa and Lady crunched along the street, her bag in her hand. With any luck, she hoped to sell the lemon dress Shae had given her. They needed the money, and she wouldn’t need the dress for a long while now. It seemed silly to be traveling with it anyways.

She found a cobbler’s shop, but they were not yet open. “Well Lady, lets see what else we can find.”

There weren’t that many businesses, let alone clothing shops. If the cobbler didn’t buy he dress she couldn’t think of anyone who would. The town was lovely, but it seemed poor. It almost reminded her of the village where the orphanage was. A dress like her’s was lovely, but for her same reasons of not needing it would be this village’s reason as well.

She and Lady wondered about a bit longer before resting on a bench. Lady laid across her feet, keeping them warm. Sansa removed her hood, stroking her fingers through her hair. Across the way from her was a photography studio. Old fading photos hung in the window. 

The flash of the bulb had blinded her when she was small and she laughed. But the brightness of it had made her youngest brother cry and begin wailing. Her mother had to excuse herself to stop the awful wailing the baby somehow produced.

She was still rubbing spots from her eyes as her older brothers began rough housing each other, teasing that the other had made the worst face. Her father stepped in, laughing, saying the only ones who made a decent face were her and her mother. 

In a big ornate mirror she adjusted her hair. Her mother had worked her fingers sore getting her hair just right and perfect. Corkscrew curls framing her face, deep blue rose crown interlaced with a bright red braid of her hair. She smiled proudly, her mother had even let her wear make-up so that her pale face didn’t seem so plain when the picture was developed.

Her little sister was already getting pissy and fidgeting with her clothes and hair. Little round face pinched and grimacing. Her hair wasn’t nearly as ornate as her own, she’d not allowed her mother to do such a thing, but it was still horrible for her all the same.

Her little brother came to her feet, sniffling, his eyes hurting from the flashbulb. He didn’t want to cry like the baby had, but it hurt now. Sansa pet his dark hair and comforted him, singing softly to him.

Sansa’s mouth dropped slightly, her heart freezing in place. 

“How?” She whispered, shaking her head and pressing her palm to her temple. There were tears in her eyes as she stood up and began walking away. Surely she had made up that story in her mind long ago, wishful and hopeful for the family she never had. 

“Hey girl!” His gruff voice shouted out.

She stopped and turned, her bag slipping from her shoulder. He was behind a fence, heavy logs of wood in his arm. “Sandor?” She gasped, white puff clouding her teary face.

He dropped the wood in his arms on the ground and went to the fence. “What the hell are you doing out here?”

“I uhm…” she lifted her bag back up, wiping her face as she stooped over. “I was uhm…going to sell a dress.” She admitted, smiling faintly.

His thick brow furrowed as he watched her. “No need to do that.” He waved his hand, shooing her off. “Go back and get Tyrion up.”

Sansa approached the fence, looking over and see a pile of split logs along with an axe. She pointed. “What are you doing?”

“Making a few coin. Now get on back before Tyrion thinks we abandoned him.”

Sansa smiled sincerely now, looking from the axe to him. “Oh come on,” she pursed her lips. “Won’t it be awfully funny to see him wake up to an empty room?”

“Yes,” Sandor huffed. “But just go on back and don’t worry about money.”

Sansa bit her lip. “I just wanted to help.”

Sandor rolled his eyes. “You’re helping enough by coming along with us.” He huffed, pulling a flask from his pocket. “You don’t need to do a thing. We said we’d take care of you and that’s all you need to know. Now bugger on back to that room.”

Sansa nodded. “Just know, if we need it, I can sell that dress.”

“Bugger off!” He snapped.

Sansa giggled as she turned and went off, half running back down the street with Lady. She stopped and turned, watching Sandor swing the axe up above his head and then swing down. 

Her smiled vanished. 

Sandor was covered in blood, lit by fire and lightening. 

She blinked, the vision gone.


	7. So Close

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sansa threw up her hands. “Why must I know all this if I am suppose to have forgotten it all?” She insisted.  
> Before them, driving the cart, Sandor chuckled.  
> “It may not make sense now, but it will once we arrive.”  
> Sansa leaned back and folded her hands into her laps. “If you say so.” She scoffed.  
> Tyrion opened the book again. “Now, tell me if you can, during the Age of Valryia can you tell me-” the cart suddenly pulled to a halt and Tyrion lurched forward a bit.

Chapter Seven:  
Tyrion sat in the library, an open book in one hand and a goblet of wine in the other. He stared out the window, watching the city glitter and glow. The excitement of the city was tangible, everyone wanted to see the returned princess. How beautiful she must be, they said. How sweet and lovely, and how she will fill out lives with joy. The princess is back! The world is not so dark as we thought.

He sat his goblet down and stood up, sliding the book back into its space. He looked up at all the shelves and rows. All the spines of books; red and gold, green and black, silver and copper. All of them so perfect and neatly aligned. Soon he would have his own library, filled to the brim with all the words and pages he wanted. Must keep my mind sharp, he thought. When the world calls you the Imp, you have to move them somehow.

He wore a dark suit of crimson. Gold lapels and a sash showing the lion he was. Jon had been most kind, extremely forgiving. He understood the sins of the father were not the sins of the child. He could not give Tyrion back his home, not yet at least, but he had given Tyrion something he could live on. He at least had his name back, had somewhere warm to sleep, and a ob to keep him in coin and drink and women. Being an advisor wouldn’t be too hard, he did enjoy telling people what to do.

He picked his goblet back up and went to the window. Below he could see the cars and the horse drawn carriages arriving. Gaudily dressed women shuffling in their tier-cake like dresses to the door, their jewelry sparkling as much as the city behind them. He wondered then how Sansa was. It was her night and she must be a ball of nerves. He sighed, drinking deep of his goblet. 

“Heartbroken is more like it.” He grumbled, somewhat bitter and the circumstances of this night. But he supposed that all true princesses had a tinge of sadness to them. This one would just be Sansa’s.

He rolled around the empty goblet in his palms and thought about the wine he had had before this one. All the bitter and sour that had tainted his mouth. The wine here was art, the wine before nothing more than a numbing agent. That last week, the one on the road with Sansa and the hound, he’d had some pretty good wine then. And despite everything they had faced, all the blood and gore of it, he thought how much he would miss it. How much he would look back fondly on that week. He was really alive then.

“Do you think they’ll sing songs of me?’ Tyrion asked Sansa. “How how the imp saved the princess and brought her home?”

Sansa had smiled, chuckling some. “I certainly will.”

“Ah!” He laughed. “As long as you do, then the rest of the world will. And if the rest of the world sings songs about me, then it will be forever, and if it lasts forever then I will lived forever.”

Sansa smiled softly, looking down at her hands. “You deserve it.”

He reached out, patting her hand gently. “Come now. At least try to enjoy this.” He said comfortingly. “You were living in a cold doorway when we found you. Now you have limitless rooms to yourself.”

“To myself,” Sansa shook her head. “I am happy Tyrion. But…I suppose I am a bit disappointed.”

Tyrion nodded. “I know.” He stood up and kissed the top of her head. “I won’t be leaving any time soon. Feel free to vent your frustrations to me. I am at my lady’s disposal.”

Sansa reached up and held his hand. “I know. You were always kind to me.” He squeezed his hand then released it. “Goodnight, Tyrion.”

He turned and left, cursing the man who had done this to her under his breath.

Tyrion turned back away from the window and walked across the library floor. The Hound had not been very tactful in his exit. He’d barely said two words to Tyrion, he’d said nothing to Sansa at all. He deserved what ever booze stained hole he was rotting in. Him and his damn gold. 

“Was that really all there was?” He whispered to the memory as he left the library. He passed off his empty goblet to a passing servant and shoved his hands deep into his pockets.

He thought about the ring the Hound had placed upon Sansa’s finger. That simple gold rig of wire. It wasn’t anything at all, but Sansa looked at it like he had handed her a unicorn and eternal beauty. What a crosskicking cad he turned out to be! 

We wandered down the stairs and came to the landing over the ballroom. He looked down, all the men and women in their finery come to gaze upon the princess. They grazed on food and swung back champagne and wine. Laughing and placing bets on the evening. He leaned and shook his head. He wasn’t sure about facing this crowd. The Lannister name not exactly polished at all. None of these people were looking forward to seeing the Imp in the same way they were looking for their princess. No. They would all be looking for him for another reason.

At least Sansa would be there. He could at least feel better thinking that.

“No tell me the words for House Tyrelll.” Tyrion commanded her.

“Grow strong.” Sansa sighed.

“And now the words for House Greyjoy.”

“Uhm…we do not…” Sansa bit her bottom lip and twisted her fingers about as she tried to think.

“We do not sow,” Tyrion snapped his bok shut. “Sansa, you need to learn all this and memorize it before we get to Winterfell.”

Sansa threw up her hands. “Why must I know all this if I am suppose to have forgotten it all?” She insisted.

Before them, driving the cart, Sandor chuckled.

“It may not make sense now, but it will once we arrive.”

Sansa leaned back and folded her hands into her laps. “If you say so.” She scoffed.

Tyrion opened the book again. “Now, tell me if you can, during the Age of Valryia can you tell me-” the cart suddenly pulled to a halt and Tyrion lurched forward a bit. 

He whipped around and slapped Sandor on the back with his book. “What the seven hells are you doing?”

Sansa was crawling up the front, looking over to see what was happening ahead of them.

“Road block.” Sandor motioned forward. “Looks like the local government is doing road checks.”

Tyrion‘s brow creased. “Road checks?” He stood up, seeing ahead of them several official guards looking through carts.

“They look like they’re trying to find something.” Sansa murmured. She crawled over the seat and sat in the front with Sandor, pulling her cloak up around her neck. 

“This isn’t right,” Tyrion flipped through his papers. “No.” He clicked his tongue. “No, no, no.” He was beginning to sound quite panicked. “I don’t like this. No. No.” He shook his head, tossing his papers down. “Sandor, we need to get out of this line now.”

“Not, likely,” Sandor growled low. “Besides, we don’t even know what they’re looking for.” He glanced back at Tyrion. “What have we got besides a girl?”

Tyrion frowned, standing behind Sansa and looking out worriedly.

“It’ll be alright,” Sansa reassured him gently, patting his hand. “We aren’t guilty of anything are we?”

Tyrion swallowed. “Our papers are bad.” He mumbled under his breath.

“What?” Sandor barked, whipping around, startling the horses.

“Our papers are fake.” Tyrion repeated.

Sandor glared harshly at him. “Just like the sobbing train tickets?” He snarled.

Tyrion met his glare. “Yes! Just like the sodding ticket.” He hissed in a mock voice.

“Stop! Stop!” Sansa pleaded. “Do you think this will make it easier on us?” Sandor eased back and Tyrion looked away. “You fighting like this won’t help.” She insisted. “Stay calm. You can kill each other later. But for now we need to figure out what is going on.” She motioned to hand to the front. She then pointed down. “I’m going for a walk.” She said, slipping out of the seat.

“Sansa,” Sandor hissed.

She looked up and smiled. “I am fine. Just…stretching my legs from the long ride.” She began walking, stopping every now and then to pick flowers and smell them. She approached the front, listening to the voices of the guards as they went through a cart. They ushered it through, going to the next one. She heard them whispering and muttering, snapping at the man driving the cart. 

“You aren’t even supposed to be here.” The man spat.

“Keep your mouth shut old man. You’ll get on through.” One guard huffed.

“You and that brotherhood don’t own these woods.” The man continued. “I don’t care if you claim to not have banners. All men have banners!”

Sansa gasped softly, covering her mouth and moving back the way she came. She climbed back up into the cart and swallowed, looking to Sandor and Tyrion.

“It’s an illegal check.” She whispered to them. 

“Illegal?” Tyrion started and Sandor held up his hand to keep him quiet.

Sansa nodded. “They aren’t even regulatory. They’re from the Brotherhood Without Banners.” 

Sandor furrowed his brother. “Seven hells,” he lifted his head forward.

Tyrion shook his head, looking forward. “Well, Sandor?”

“Sandor?” Sansa looked to him and tilted her head as she put some pieces together. “Oh…are they looking for you?”

“No,” he snarled. “But they sure as hell won’t be letting me go I can you that damn much for sure.”

Before Sansa could ask Tyrion patted her arm. “He isn’t exactly unknown.” He shrugged. “Not exactly a face no one forgets. Let alone who he is related to.”

Sansa held her tongue. Sandor was stressed enough without her questioning him. The carts inched forward one by one until they were up in the front. Sandor kept his hood pulled up, his head down. Sansa watched as the men went through their cart, not finding much besides their few bags, taking the bottles of wine Sandor had purchased. They laughed when they saw Tyrion, going on about their search.

“Alright, you can go.” One said.

“Unh-uh, wait a second now, Gendry.” The other guard chuckled as he stepped up onto the cart and grabbed hold of Sansa by the chin. “Pretty little thing aren’t you?”

Sansa cut cold eyes at him, jerking her head away but he grabbed her back again. “Could use a new woman are the camp.”

“Excuse me?” Tyrion snapped as he stood.

“What?” The man laughed him. “Try and stop me.” He began to pull on Sansa, who struck him upside the face and head. “Don’t be like that pretty thing!” He laughed cruelly.

Sandor stood up, pulling out his knife and stabbing the man in the eye. 

Sansa screamed, wrenching back as the man screamed and fell to the ground.

Gendry stared horrified, looking up at Sandor with wide eyes. “Clegane,” he gasped. Sandor turned glaring down at him, reaching fo rhis sword.

“Sandor don’t!” Tyrion screamed and an arrow zipped through the air, striking Sandor across the cheek.

Tyrion pulled Sansa into the back with him, covering her as arrows began flying, men came charging out of the forest screaming and shouting. Sandor tried to drive the cart off, but the horses were held. He was knocked off the cart, hitting the ground with a loud thud. 

“Take the cart!” Someone called out. 

“Hush, it’ll be alright.” Tyrion whispered to her.

“What do we do with his friends in the back?”

“Take them too. Let them see the crimes of a Clegane.”


	8. The Brotherhood

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Well, that certainly was not couth,” Beric said. “Then again, neither was pawing and pulling at you like a hunk of meat. He was no starving dog.” He shook his head still. “But Clegane has many other crimes.”  
> Sansa suddenly felt embarrassed, she had always tended to look at the good in people. Why it had never occurred to her Sandor could be some criminal made her feel like a silly child. Sandor certainly looked like a criminal, but he had never treated her cruelly. So she had always just assumed to the contrary.  
> “Then what are the charges?” Tyrion asked. “Being a drunk? Stealing a few chickens?” He squints his eyes at Beric.  
> Beric smiled at the two of them. “Oh, you don’t want to ruin the surprise?” He asked as he went forward, walking towards his men and murmuring to a man in a red cloak.  
> *I used the original text in Storm of Swords as reference to this chapter*

There was a knock on her doors and Sansa stood up, setting her quill and ink aside, covering her letter with a book. “Come in?” She called out.

The doors opened, Tyrion stepping in and closing them behind him. “Forgive me, my lady.” He said as he walked up towards her. “I was so worried I-” he stopped and looked at her making a face of disgust and repulse. He held his hands out in shock. “Oh my!” He huffed, slapping his hands to his waist. “Oh for the love of-” He started, startling Sansa.

She smiled, fidgeting a bit in place.

He extended his hand out, scoffing. “Look at what they have done to you.” He started, mock criticism coating his tongue. “Look at this slovenly mess.”

She turned for him, spinning her skirts so he could see her in full detail. “I know. The dressmakers here are lovely but don’t know anything about draping.” She smiled shyly, folding her hands before her gown.

Tyrion walked in, rubbing his chin. “I once knew a dressmaker’s assistant who could stitch a stitch so fine it became invisible to the naked eye.” He took her hand in his and held it comfortingly, his stubby fingers petting her long, beautiful ones. A stark contrast, but a welcomed one to both of them.

“Look what has become of her.” He smiled, squeezing, noticing the ink stains on her pale fingers.

Sansa knelt down, pulling Tyrion into a hug. He held her fast, squeezing tightly in hopes that she would rejoice in her situation. He pet her hair and then pulled back, bopping the tip of her nose. “You’ll wrinkle my cravat, princess.”

Sansa chuckled, pulling back and wiping her cheek. “I beg pardon, lord of coin.” She chided. 

He tilted his head, shrugging. “Stress won’t help that lovely face of yours.”

Sansa rolled her eyes, motioning to the plush chairs around the fire. “Too late to warn me of that. I have suffered enough stress this last month to have aged me into my next life.”

“I have lived many lives then.” Tyrion chortled as he sat down by the fire with her. It was silent after that, both of them staring into the flames or at their own hands. It was awkward and it had not been so between them for a long while. Tyrion looked to her, her face lovely and warm in the glow of the fire. Her eyes were directed to the logs by the fireplace, waiting to be thrown onto the flames. Such an odd stare, one of nostalgia and perhaps stomachache.

He cleared his throat and sighed. “Oh well! I supposed a night of fine wine and fine dining will be alright.” He stretched, groaning and rolling his eyes at the creaking his body made. “Perhaps it will make up for the awful people.”

“Not all of them are awful,” Sansa corrected gently. “How do you know if all you do is drink at them?”  
“I’ve seen many people in my lifetime, child.” He chided back at her. “And while some do surprise you,” he smiled as he motioned his hand at her. “I doubt I will find any out there that will.”

Sansa smiled worriedly, twisting her hands in her lap. “Will I become one of them you think?”

“Oh, good lord, girl,” he scoffed. “Do not start talking like that! You have seen too much to lose yourself in that world.” He shook his finger at her. “Hold your tongue and do not think about the things that...dog said.”

Her lips parted slightly and her eyes widened at the word, and he suddenly felt sick to his stomach with guilt. He shook his head and rubbed at his forehead. “Just don’t think about it, Sansa.” He sighed, reaching out and pulling her twisted and tangled fingers apart. “You will hurt for a while. But in time it will be a habit.”

She looked at the fire and the logs again then lifted her eyes to the mirror upon the mantle. So many questions lingered, leaving her heart half empty. She would grow out of it, Dany had told her so too. 

You will grow up and you will forgive.

\---

Sansa quivered, holding onto Tyrion’s strong hand as they were led into the cavern. A great fire in the center, a full move above them. Men stood around in the circle, laughing and spitting. Eyes cut to them as they entered.

“Do not show fear, my lady.” Tyrion pat her hand, his own cold and clammy. “We have done nothing wrong.” He swallowed, voice cracking. “We should be peachy keen.”

“Peachy keen?” Sansa whispered to him. She had not seen Sandor since they had been ambushed. She had prayed countless times since then for his safety.

Tyrion cleared his throat, lips pressed in a light line. “I stand by my words.”

Sansa chewed on her bottom lip, raising her free hand to her chin. “What do you think they will do to us?”

Tyrion huffed. “I do not know.Nor do I want to think about it.”

“I am sorry,” Sansa squeezed his hand apologetically. “I only asked because-” he eyes cut up to a man standing near her. The man is tall and with red-gold hair. He had a face that was handsome, or at least once one. He had his fair share of scars. But it was something else that stole from his features. Horrors, perhaps. Hardship. War, Sansa thought, this man has seen so much blood.

The man looked down at her, first just a glance and then a hard stare. Their eyes locking as he turned towards her. “You came with Clegane.”

Sansa screwed her mouth shut, holding her breath as she looked away.

“Strange caravan he carries.” The man said rubbing his chin. “A woman and child.”

Tyrion snapped his hand away from Sansa and shook a finger at the man. “I am not a child!” He barked at the man. Sansa tried to stop him, grabbing his shoulder but was shook away. “My stature may be small, but I will not be called a child!”

“Imp then?” The man asked.

Tyrion scoffed. “Oh well yes. If the reputation precedes me!”

“I haven’t seen a Lannister in ages!” The man laughed and he knelt down, coming eye level with Tyrion. 

Tyrion stared, silenced. He dropped his hand and furrowed his brow. “Dondarrion?” He whispered. “I...I did not…”

The man stood back up. “I have changed greatly in the last ten years. As have you, from the looks of it.” He then looked back at Sansa. “Still,” he murmured. “I find it you travel with Clegane.” His eyes did not leave Sansa. “It is an odd coupling, to say the least.” He murmured as he turned away as a young lad brought him his sword.

“What is happening here, Dondarrion?” Tyrion asked, inching towards him. “Can you at least tell us or are we to be put on trial here as well?”

“It all depends on,” Dondarrion said with a shrug. “I suppose there are some crimes the Lannisters could use extra punishment for.”

Tyrion held up his hand. “Understood.”

Dondarrion then motioned to Sansa. “Are you not going to introduce me to your lovely companion.”

“Oh,” Tyrion laughed nervously. “Well, you see here this is-”

“Alayne,” she said cooly. “My name is Alayne Stone, sir.”

Dondarrion bowed. “Beric Dondarrion, my lady.” His eyes darted up and down her. “Charity, Tyrion?”’

Tyrion held his hand up to Sansa. “Remain silent, child.” He replied. 

Sansa bit her tongue then sighed. “Where is Sandor?” She asked, concerned. “Is he alright?” She approached Beric. “He only stabbed that man protecting me.”

“Well, that certainly was not couth,” Beric said. “Then again, neither was pawing and pulling at you like a hunk of meat. He was no starving dog.” He shook his head still. “But Clegane has many other crimes.”

Sansa suddenly felt embarrassed, she had always tended to look at the good in people. Why it had never occurred to her Sandor could be some criminal made her feel like a silly child. Sandor certainly looked like a criminal, but he had never treated her cruelly. So she had always just assumed to the contrary. 

“Then what are the charges?” Tyrion asked. “Being a drunk? Stealing a few chickens?” He squints his eyes at Beric.

Beric smiled at the two of them. “Oh, you don’t want to ruin the surprise?” He asked as he went forward, walking towards his men and murmuring to a man in a red cloak.

Tyrion spit, scoffing a bit. “Who knows what they have against him.”

Sansa fidgeted with her hands, twisting her skirt in her hands. “He did kill of their men.” She murmured. “Who knows what else he did when they dragged us off…” Her mind wandered.

“That wouldn’t have happened though if they hadn’t of grabbed at us.” Tyrion sighed as he sat down on a stone. “And they knew exactly who Sandor was. They must have something.”

Sansa sat down beside Tyrion and she looked around at the men surrounding the fire. “What will happen if Sandor is found guilty?” She worried. “Will we not be able to get to Jon Snow?”

Tyrion patted her hand. “Don’t you fret.” He sighed. “Sandor won’t let us down. I’m sure we’ll make our way.”

Sansa tried to smile but found it difficult. 

She then heard men shouting from outside the cavern, turning to look at the entrance she saw men coming down the path, leading Sandor. His hands were tied, head covered by a rough sack. She stood up, take a few steps before Tyrion grabbed her hand. He shook his head, his hand moving to Ix nay her movement.

The tugged and pushed Sandor forward, forcing him to stand before the fire. They tugged the sack of his head, his hair pulled with it.

“Watch it you bloody-” He stepped back suddenly, knocking a man over as he tried to get away from the heat of the flames.

Sansa stared worried, wondering what was wrong.

“Sandor Clegane,” Beric started, the men going into a quiet murmur. “You are here under trial.”

“Trail for what?” Sandor spit. “You’re the ones who jumped me. Tried to hurt the girl. I only acted in defense. Any problem you have with me cannot be personal.”

“You are a Clegane then, aren’t you?” Beric asked. “Then, yes, this is personal.”

Sandor looked agitated, more so than normal. “I have not done shit to you, and you know it.”

“Your kin has.”

“My kin-” Sandor’s face went slack for a moment, eyes a little wide. “I have nothing to do with my brother!” He snapped angrily. “Whatever he has done is no business of mine. Gregor is no kin to me.” He spit.

“Oh, but the blood says differently.” The man in the red said, shaking his head. “And we are brothers here.” He motioned his arms out, including all the men around them. “We are brothers here,” Thoros of Myr declared. “Holy brothers, sworn to the realm, to our god, and to each other.”

The small cavern filled with cheering and hooting, echoing off the stone walls and beating upon Sansa’s ears. Tyrion pulled her back close and held her hand with both of his.

“The brotherhood without banners.” A man near Sandor chided him. “Knights of these hollow hills.”

“Knights?” Clegane laughed loudly. “Dondarrion’s a knight, but the rest of you are the 

sorriest lot of outlaws and broken men I’ve ever seen. I shit better men than you.” 

“Any knight can make a knight,” Beric said as he circled Sandor. “And you have no right to name who is a better man or no man at all. You are a coward. We all remember that night Tzar Targaryen set the halls of Winterfell aflame.” He hissed into his burnt ear. “We remember how the hound fled.”

The fellowship all laughed and sneered.

Sansa’s lips parted at this information. Had Sandor been at Winterfell? Had he known Sansa? Did he protect her that night? Things fell into place then and she felt her heart ache.

“Send me on my way and you’ll remember the backside of me more clearly,” Clegane rasped. “But if you mean to murder me, then bloody well get on with it. You took my sword, my horses…” his eyes scoured the crowd, finding Sansa and Tyrion. “Your man tried to rape my girl.” He growled at Beric. “So take my life and be done with it... but spare me and my companions this pious bleating.” 

“You will die soon enough, dog,” promised the man in red, “but it shan’t be murder, only justice.”

“For what?” Sandor blurted with another loud laugh that echoed all around.”You mention my brother. What did he do? I have done shit to you. AND YOU KNOW IT!”

Sansa had never felt such rage before, never heard it. But Sandor had it in spades, and it resonated with the echo of his voice.

Sandor’s mouth twitched. “Do you take me for my brother? Is being born Clegane a crime?” 

“Murder is a crime.” 

“Who did I murder?”

“Women, children,” the man in red began, a long list of names falling from his tongue bountiful enough to fill a river. Sansa squeezed Tyrion’s hand back. They meant to kill Sandor, use him to avenge their pride and fallen brothers and family.

“Enough.” Sandor’s face was tight with anger. “You’re making noise. These names mean 

nothing. Who were they?” 

“People,” said Lord Beric simply.

Sandor took a breath, one he wished was not full of the heat of the fire. “I’ll admit here and now, I’m the same as you.” His voice was low and dangerous. “The only difference is, I don’t lie about what I am. So, kill me, but don’t call me a murderer while you stand there telling each other that your shit don’t stink. You hear me?” He spat on the ground. “You have no real evidence.” He added. “How do you plan to get you sweet justice if you have nothing but rumors and hearsay?”

“Oh no,” Tyrion murmured.

“What?” Sansa turned and looked at him.

His eyes widened, he had meant to exclaim so. “O-o-oh well,” he cleared his throat. “I do believe they mean to kill him.”

Sansa shook her head, stomping her foot she whined.

“Oh but...but with a fight, of course.” He meant that to sound reassuring. “They are intending, I believe, to put him to trial by combat.”

Sansa thought for a moment that perhaps this was a good thing. Sandor was so strong and big. And looking at this lot of men none of them seemed to be a match for him. But Sansa knew from experience that appearances weren’t always seemed. 

She felt strange, another feeling of nostalgia, heart aching as she remembered her brother taunting her little sister, laughing at her for playing with sticks like swords. The little girl was red in the face, her big ears glowing pink as well. Her brother just laughed, picking up a stick himself and mocking her by challenging her to a duel. But the little one did not take it in jest, she charged, serious and angry. Sansa did not envy her brother. The girl was small, but she was stronger than she looked, and she could cause damage to no one else. The elder brother fell, unprepared for the fight the girl put up.

“I won sister! See I won!”

“Oh my god…” Sansa choked, eyes filling with tears. What is happening to me? She had to sit down.

Tyrion took this as a sign she was worried about Sandor, he pet her and tried to calm her down. But at that moment the men rose up in loud roaring cheers. Beric was given his sword, as was Sandor who was rubbing his wrists. 

“It’s starting,” Tyrion whispered.

Sansa looked up from her panic to see Sandor take his sword. But when the Hound made to step toward his foe, the man in red stopped him. “First we pray.” 

He turned toward the fire and lifted his arms. “Lord of Light, look down upon us.” 

All around the cave, the brotherhood without banners lifted their own voices in response. “Lord of Light, protect us in the darkness. Lord of Light, shine your face upon us. Light your flame among us, R’hllor,” said the red priest. “Show us the truth or falseness of this man. Strike him down if he is guilty, and give strength to his sword if he is true.”

“For the night is dark,” the others chanted, “and full of terrors.”

“This cave is dark too,” Sandor huffed, “but I’m the terror here. I hope your god’s a sweet one,  
Dondarrion. You’re going to meet him shortly.” 

Unsmiling, Lord Beric laid the edge of his longsword against the palm of his left hand, and  
drew it slowly down. Blood ran dark from the gash he made and washed over the steel.

And then the sword took fire.


End file.
